


The Shatterpoint

by HeartOfStars



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Espionage, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Luke Skywalker Is A Good Boy, Sort Of, gets dark for a bit, in which Luke is Bond and Leia is Q, nothing too awful happens though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25236217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartOfStars/pseuds/HeartOfStars
Summary: Darth Vader didn't expect an assassin to try and kill him; he really didn't expect a random kid to save his life. Except this isn't just some random kid...it's the son he didn't know existed.
Relationships: Firmus Piett & Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa & Han Solo, Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Comments: 42
Kudos: 265
Collections: 2020 Star Wars Summer Fic Exchange





	1. The Doer Of Deeds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Severnlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severnlight/gifts).



> So this got way longer than I expected, but everything will work out in the end XD This fic was partially inspired by the BBC espionage drama, "The Night Manager." Same setting as the OT, just canon divergence following ANH. HUGE canon divergence.
> 
> Thank you to the mighty [SpellCleaver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpellCleaver/pseuds/SpellCleaver) for looking this over!

Space is dark. 

There is no experience like being out in outer space. First of all, it is, as suggested, dark. It is pitch black, save for the twinkling of stars, which are far closer than you ever could have imagined; it is like a dark vacuum, ready to swallow you up. It is wonderful, awe-inspiring...but it is also terrifying. You could never have expected such all-encompassing darkness, but here it is before you; and the lights of the stars are few and far between. 

Space is cold. 

That is the second experience, the next thing you were not expecting: the temperature. You are used to warmth, even a little of it; but warmth is given by suns, and by the heated cores of planets, and you are not near either. And furthermore, the cold you know is bitter, full of furious life, blowing and swirling and causing storms. This is not that. This cold has no life; it is dead, empty. It has no feeling, and it is ready to swallow you up. 

Space is quiet. 

And this is the last thing, the best thing--the worst thing about space. It is that you are here alone; perhaps with a person or two...or not. It does not matter. Besides you, and maybe if you are lucky a group of people, there is nothing. There are planets, and people somewhere; but you are only in the dead of space, sitting in a spacecraft, or floating along in a spacesuit. 

There are no people there.

So space is quiet. Very, very quiet. 

Deadly silent, even. 

And there is no problem with this. Ordinarily there would not be a problem with this. But of course, space is a fourth thing as well. Space is dangerous. It may not look it; at first glance, it is beautiful. Wonderful. But a hidden danger lurks there, in everything--from neighboring stars to black holes to people and creatures that you may meet. 

And because space is quiet, that is a problem. 

Because, if any of that danger were to befall you...there is no one to hear you scream. 

  
  


For the first time in months, Captain Piett was hopeful. 

Ever since the Death Star’s destruction, life as a servant of the Empire had been tense, disordered, and stressful; they hadn’t faced an upset like this in years. For weeks Piett had been rushing at his tasks, trying to get too many things done in just twenty-four hours...and then, to make things worse, he’d been transferred to the _Executor._ This should not have been a problem, and he hadn’t thought it would be; it was considered a promotion of the highest order, to serve on Darth Vader’s personal Star Destroyer, larger than all others of its kind, where he would be considered an important officer, and could order others around. All his former coworkers, none of whom he had been too fond of, had been jealous of him. 

Then he had started work. 

Nothing happened--nothing fatal, at least. But that was the problem: _fatal._ Firmus Piett had never imagined, not for one minute, that his life could be in danger simply from serving on the _Executor,_ but it was. Because what he found out quickly was that Darth Vader, as the second highest of rank in the Empire, as the Emperor’s Enforcer, had a quick temper and very high standards. If he relied on Piett for something extremely important...and Piett were to fail…

Then Piett would be dead. 

He had never heard of such a thing before; he had not imagined that Vader would kill any of his own men. And it did not happen often--but there was the fear of it, the constant fear, and once, at the beginning of his second month, Piett witnessed it happen firsthand, and decided in that moment to be the best captain that Lord Vader had ever known. He did not want to lose his life; he knew it very well might happen. Following the Death Star’s destruction, Vader had been tasked with finding its destroyer; and it was natural that he would be even more on edge than usual. He was, after all, under orders by the _Emperor himself._

Piett only knew that because Vader had told him that; that had been six months into his job, and it had been his second surprise. (The first, of course, being that he could be killed for making a mistake.) 

Vader, it seemed, trusted him. 

Of course, he realized that night, he had gone to all lengths to make sure that he would never be one of those killed for doing a poor job; and, if he was being vain, he might assume that he was the most competent officer on the entire ship. Vader had deemed him trustworthy. 

Over the course of eight months, Captain Firmus Piett learned that he was not the only one of these men, these fortunate souls--or unfortunate--whom Lord Vader had welcomed into his inner circle, who he would trust more than anyone else. The others were Maximilian Veers, a young lieutenant who was more skilled at strategy and military tactics than anyone but Vader himself, and whom Piett already found that he liked; and there was Admiral Ozzel, a cold, ruthless man who would stop at nothing to get the job done. Somehow, Piett was as trusted as Veers and Ozzel, and that was a surprise. 

But he did not know if it was a good thing. 

Maybe Vader trusted him, and Veers and Ozzel, more than anyone else on the ship. Maybe he would tell them things he told no one else; maybe they were more privileged than anyone else on the _Executor._

But that only meant that, if one of them were to fail, their punishment would be all the harsher. 

  
  


For months, there had been tension throughout the Empire, and particularly on board the _Executor;_ but finally, at long last, all of the Imperial Forces took a collective breath. The Rebellion was once again on the run. They had at last gotten through to them, had caught up, and they were close to destroying the puny Rebel Alliance, once and for all. 

As long as they got their hands on the man who had destroyed the Death Star. 

It was the next step; and it had to be done. But Darth Vader had a plan. His years first as a General for the Republic--a time that he did not like to think about, but which was useful at the moment--and then leading the Empire had given him a strategic mind, and with the help of Veers, recently promoted to General, and his other two loyal assistants, Piett and Ozzel...he thought he knew what he was going to do. 

And he would tell them today. 

“At ease,” he said as he met them on the bridge; at his signal, they began walking with him, until they had reached a certain hallway near his meditation chamber. Technically, they were in public, but there would be no one here. He had made certain of it, and they would be able to speak alone. 

Darth Vader did not prefer to share any part of himself with anyone, to get to know anyone on a personal basis; but he had to admit that these three men were good. Piett and Veers specifically; Ozzel was also skilled, which was why Vader kept him around, but he was also getting to be too arrogant for his own good. 

“I am going to inform you of my plan to defeat the Alliance,” he said, looking each man in the face. “But this information must _not_ leave this room. If it does, I will be most displeased.”

He did not add anything. He simply let the threat simmer; and he was right to do so. Immediately, he felt fear race through each of the three men, and felt their resolve not to break his trust. 

“Now,” he went on. “Veers, I assume you have had charts drawn up?”

“Absolutely, my lord.” Veers turned on a holoprojector, and a small map appeared; it was a map of the entire galaxy. “Select any system, any planet, and you will be given a brief summary of everything we know of Alliance-related activity on each planet.” 

Vader had seen many things in his life, had planned strategies, had plenty of experience in the war room himself; but even he was impressed. 

“Very good,” he said. “Using this, we will be able to determine the planet that the Alliance currently resides on; if it is one planet. It may be several, but I expect that they have planted their main base on either Axxila or Hoth. However…we will not be directly attacking the base.” 

Ozzel frowned. “Not attacking? Why not?”

“Because we want to _destroy_ the Alliance,” Vader explained, relishing the words he was allowed to deliver. “But we do not want to destroy the pilot responsible for the destruction of the Death Star. Therefore--”

He stopped. 

Something was wrong. 

“Therefore?” Piett looked concerned; of course. He was always the first to catch on when something was not right. “What is it, Lord Vader?”

Vader held up a hand. There was danger--danger in this room--

_The vents._

He realized it almost too late; realized it as a shot was fired, right for him. But it missed...and not on the part of anything he had done. Instead, there was a clang, several grunts, a pained shout...and the vent broke free to allow two men to plummet to the floor. One held a blaster, the other--

Vader could tell nothing about him. But he only knew one thing: the man had saved his life. 

The assassin was up and running immediately, his blaster with him; but the savior, the young man who’d stopped the assassination attempt, was up in an instant. There was a dark stain on his uniform--he was injured--but that did not stop him from sprinting after the man. 

“Right,” Vader ordered as Veers and Piett moved forward. “We will cut them off.” 

They hurried in the opposite direction, turning corners, the officers almost running through the hallways, until they rounded a final corner. 

Vader’s rescuer was lying on the floor; the assassin was nowhere to be found. 

But Vader did not care for him now; he had dealt with assassination attempts before, and they meant nothing to him. What mattered was that a man--a young man, by the looks of it, indeed almost a boy--had saved his life, and been given a beating for it. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t care...however…

Such loyalty. Such dedication to the Empire, to save Vader’s life. 

Slowly, he approached the young man, who was lying on the floor, barely breathing. There was a wound in his side--he’d taken the shot, probably by throwing himself on top of the assassin in the vents--and his face was covered in blood, nose bashed in and probably broken, with a cut lip and plenty of marks across the face. Vader almost thought that he recognized him...but with those wounds…it was difficult to tell. 

As he approached, the young man’s eyes fluttered open, and Vader saw him focus on him. A number of emotions flashed across his mind, and quickly, Vader searched them; he needed to know if he could trust this young man. There was fear, of course; that was natural. Fear...a bit of anger, a bit of determination...pain, blinding pain...and satisfaction. Triumph. 

He had _wanted_ to save Vader’s life. 

That, more than anything, made the Dark Lord stay his hand. 

“Who is he?” Ozzel demanded. 

“Yes,” Vader said quietly, looking down at the young man whose consciousness seemed to be going in and out, his chest rising as he struggled to breathe. “Who are you, boy?”

Piett, ever the quick thinker, knelt down and searched through the young rescuer’s clothes before he pulled out an identification card. 

“Shatterlight,” he said. “Owen Shatterlight.” 

“Shatterlight,” Vader echoed. It was a strange name; but he’d heard stranger. 

But what to do with him? Should he cast him out? Kill him? Or…

To go after that assassin, to stop him, he was not only loyal to the Empire. He was also incredibly skilled, determined; and on top of that, Vader could sense that he was strong with the Force. 

But he was not a Jedi. Otherwise Vader would know him. 

Owen Shatterlight, Vader decided, would make a skilled agent. 

“Enough of this,” Ozzel said sharply. “Would you like one of us to kill him?”

Slowly, Vader turned around. Ozzel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed nervously. 

“Kill him,” Vader spat. “He just saved my life, and he did so with a skill set that will be valuable to all of us. No,” he said, turning back to the half-conscious youth, “no. Shatterlight will be useful to us.” 

And, as the boy’s gaze focused on him once more, Vader got the distinct impression that Owen Shatterlight was in agreement. 

  
  


_“Who is he?”_

Pain...blinding pain...he couldn’t see…

_“Kill him?”_

Panic. No. No, he could not be killed...

With difficulty, he opened his eyes. It hurt to do that, hurt to see, hurt to even be conscious at all--

And there was Darth Vader, looking down at him. 

At least, he thought it was. Owen had never seen the man up close, the Dark Lord of the Sith; but who else could it be? He...he’d come here…

He’d come here to save Vader’s life. And now he was injured for it. 

Yes. Yes, it was Vader, looking down at him, though he was swimming in and out of focus... _everything_ was…

_“Shatterlight will be of use to us.”_

Yes, he would. 

That was Owen’s last thought; he would. He would be of great use, and it was a miracle that he’d made it this far...but now, it seemed, he’d gotten what he wanted. Vader was going to take him in; at least, that was what it sounded like. He wanted to use him. 

Good. 

Very good. 

Owen allowed himself to smile, faintly, before closing his eyes. 

But he could do no more. He would have to be careful, now, careful in everything he did, and said, and even thought. 

Because he was not Owen Shatterlight. 

He was not loyal to the Empire. 

He was Luke Skywalker. 

He had destroyed the Death Star. 

And he had come here to destroy the Empire from the inside. 


	2. Dust And Sweat And Blood

Luke Skywalker. Nineteen. 1.75 meters tall. Moisture farmer, previously; now pilot. Jedi in training. Commander. So read his file that Princess Leia Organa kept track of. 

Now, that file no longer existed.

No one had successfully infiltrated the Empire before. Those who had had died, or worse; no, probably worse. Definitely worse. The Empire hated traitors and spies more than anyone else, and if they caught one, they would torture them, painfully, horribly, until at last the former spy begged for death. And then, finally, with their minds nearly broken, their souls destroyed, they would die. 

Leia was determined that that would not happen to Luke. 

Sending the destroyer of the Death Star himself into the Empire had been risky; but it was the only way to both protect Luke and take down the Empire all at once. He would be there to gather secrets, to undermine operations; and the entire time, Darth Vader would search for the pilot who had destroyed the Death Star, not knowing that he stood at his side. 

If they pulled this off, it would save the galaxy. 

If they didn’t...Leia didn’t even want to think about it. It was a huge risk, one that her superiors did not approve of; but she wanted Vader  _ dead.  _ The destruction of Alderaan had been the last straw--and then he had escaped the Death Star minutes before Luke blew it up. He needed to die, and Luke was going to do it; because Vader was also responsible for killing someone  _ he  _ loved, and the Empire in general was responsible for the deaths of his aunt and uncle. 

If the plan worked, Vader would, eventually, die. So they had to make it work. 

That required several steps. 

The first step was to get rid of everything Luke had been. So far, no one besides a select group of people knew that it had been Luke who destroyed the Death Star; but it could only be a matter of time, and if the Empire ever found out it had been Luke Skywalker, the real Luke Skywalker would be completely different from the one everyone knew. He would be young, dark-haired, hailing from Corellia; and as for the rest of the Alliance, all they would know was that Luke Skywalker had been dispatched on a mission to Jedha. Mothma had approved the assignment, and Han would be sending her fake progress reports in Luke’s name; there was no way that High Command could track Luke to his real mission. 

As for the real Luke, he would no longer exist. Instead, he would become Owen Shatterlight, a kid from Tatooine who had wanted all his life to fly with the Empire; and when he was not able to fly, he had taken up a different profession. He had become a bounty hunter. He was young, but his talent with a blaster was unrivaled by any, and he was ruthless. He had killed, and hurt people, to get what he wanted--he was a dangerous man. But when questioned on his morals, he did what he did for a reason: to serve the Empire. 

“You have to forget who you are,” Leia had told him. “You are not Luke Skywalker. You are not an idealist, you’re not a pilot. You’re a bounty hunter who would do anything for the Empire.”

It had hurt Leia to send Luke into such a life, to make him prove ruthlessness that he didn’t have. But the Empire had been growing closer to them--and then, in a surprise raid, Han had almost died. 

For both of them, that was the last straw. 

“It’s not usual for bounty hunters to have morals,” Luke had told her wryly. 

“No. But that’s the only one you have--do it for the Empire. Nothing else matters. You know nothing else. You have to be part of the Empire, and you’ll have to do something drastic to get in.” 

The “something drastic” had been, in fact, saving the life of a high-ranking Imperial officer, maybe even Vader himself. The thought had been disgusting to both Luke and Leia, but it had to be done; it was what would get Luke into the Empire. 

And from there, he would have little to no communication with Leia. 

Leia would not know if he was alive. 

Leia would not know if he had been exposed, or tortured, or killed. 

Leia would not know anything, except for hints that Luke was maybe doing all right. 

Leia would have to simply trust that Luke would do his job, and would not need her help. 

And that was the hardest of all. 

  
  


Owen Shatterlight had been taken to the medbay immediately, where he was placed in a bacta tank for twenty-four hours. Following that, his face and abdomen were operated on by the med droids, and then he was laid in a bed to sleep until his wounds had healed. 

And, occasionally, Darth Vader came to watch him heal. 

_ Who are you, boy?  _ he thought as he studied Shatterlight’s wounds, his face, his Force presence. He had appeared out of nowhere; but nonetheless, he was meant to be there...but why? What was such a powerful Force user doing on board the  _ Executor?  _ And why had he saved Vader’s life? 

There was only one thing to be done about it. Vader had taken him in, but he could be anyone. Before allowing this boy to join his operations, Vader would have to make sure that he was not a spy or servant of the Rebellion, or a third party that would seek to do harm to the Empire. Xizor was a possibility; he detested Vader, and was always trying to find ways to replace him in the good graces of the Emperor. He would absolutely be willing to send a spy; so after it was certain that Shatterlight would live, Vader ordered a full search to be conducted. 

The search yielded interesting results. 

First and foremost, Owen Shatterlight was from  _ Tatooine.  _ That brought back some uncomfortable memories, to say the least; and there was also, then, the fact that Shatterlight looked very much like...Anakin had. If his name were not Shatterlight, but Skywalker…

No. There was no point in thinking about it. No point at all. 

Then came the knowledge that Shatterlight had wanted to become a pilot; he was loyal to the Empire, utterly loyal. But it appeared that he was nothing else--his family had been killed by Rebels. He had become a bounty hunter. He had killed before, and had delivered on a target when no one else had. Why he had turned to such a profession when he had the Force was completely baffling; but then, Vader realized, perhaps Owen Shatterlight did not know that he had the Force. 

If not, he would tell him. 

And perhaps, beyond performing assignments for Vader, perhaps Owen Shatterlight might become Vader’s apprentice. 

Vader left the medbay feeling more excited than he had in years. 

  
  


Pain. 

There was only pain. Pain was all that existed--in his face, all over his face, like someone had punched him there for a week straight. And then there was pain in his abdomen: hot and searing, like a fire had been lit in his stomach. For the longest time, that was all that Luke Skywalker knew--pain. Then, slowly, the hot fire, the burning pain, began to morph into something else; into exhaustion. He was absolutely exhausted, and wherever he was, all he wanted to do was lie there forever. He was in pain, he was exhausted, and whatever had caused it, he wanted to never get up again. 

Maybe Leia was nearby. Did she know?

If so, he didn’t even have the strength to call for her. 

Eventually, the sensations of pain and exhaustion gave way to accommodate other things: softness. Warmth. Light. Voices. The scent of flowers. 

The voices were what stuck out, though. Was Leia one of them? 

Or Han? 

Or Wedge? 

Mostly, though, he was thinking of Leia.

_ Leia,  _ he wanted to say; if she was there, she would be right next to him, he knew.  _ Leia, are you there?  _

He managed to open his mouth, managed to produce a small sound. 

Immediately, he sensed other people near him. One of them adjusted something, touched his chest; was there a tube inside him? If so, that was terrifying. 

“...wouldn’t get up if I were you,” said someone; a man’s voice, his accent sharp, cultured. “Risky thing you did, saving Lord Vader’s life.” 

Lord Vader. 

Saving his life. 

Suddenly everything rushed back, and it took everything Luke had not to panic. Right. Right, he’d gotten inside the Empire, he’d thrown himself in front of an assassin the Rebellion had hired just for this purpose…

And he was not Luke. Not anymore. 

He was Owen Shatterlight. 

Luke tried to take deep breaths, all too aware that the person touching him was an Imperial of some sort, that he was lying in an Imperial medbay, and had been treated by Imperial droids. He was in the hands of men who, if they knew his true identity, would want to kill him. 

He was in the hands of Darth Vader. 

But it also meant that the plan had worked. He’d gotten onto the  _ Executor,  _ he’d staged an assassination attempt, had saved Vader’s life...and Vader had actually taken the bait. He had had Luke fully treated. 

The first step was complete. 

“Rest up, Shatterlight,” said the man; Luke barely heard his words through the fog in his mind. “Once you’re healed, Lord Vader will want to speak with you.” 

  
  


Luke fell back into dreams after that; this time, they were calmer, since he was no longer in such terrible pain. There was still a dull throb in his face, but the ache in his abdomen had almost entirely receded, and for once, he was allowed to sleep. 

But that entire time, he did not let his guard down. 

To think he’d almost spoken Leia’s name...he had been afraid he was still too green, too naive for this particular assignment, and he’d been right. With one name, he had almost given himself away; everyone in the Empire knew who Leia was. As far as they were concerned, there was only one  _ Leia,  _ and she was the terrorist princess who had somehow escaped their grasp. 

_ Not Leia,  _ he told himself as he fell back to sleep, the sensations of the room already fading.  _ Not Leia. Leia is not my friend. Leia is a terrorist. Leia is a Rebel leader; I hate her.  _

It was awful, revolting to think. But Leia would want him to think it. 

He drifted through strange dreams after that: of flying on Tatooine, of training with Ben, of helping Uncle Owen with the harvest. Of blowing up TIE Fighters with Han. Of helping Leia after a nightmare. Those were all real things; but in the colorful dreamscape of Luke’s mind, they all felt distant, strange, like things that had never happened. 

And then they all faded, one by one, and were replaced by Darth Vader looming over him, lightsaber lit. 

“You do not know the truth,” he said once. 

And then, in another dream: “You will kill them. You will kill all your friends.” 

_ Truth. What truth?  _

_ Why would I kill all my friends? _

“Who are you? What is your purpose?” 

_ Who was he?  _ What did that have to do with anything? 

“What is your place in the grand scheme of things, I wonder?”

The voice was too close, too real--and then Luke realized that was because it  _ was  _ real. Darth Vader was right above him, the terrifying hiss of the respirator in his ear. The thought almost made him panic on the spot; but he couldn’t panic. 

_ I am not Luke. I am Owen Shatterlight.  _

_ Shatterlight, Shatterlight. I hate the Rebellion. I kill for a living.  _

_ I want to help the Empire… _

Luke continued to take deep breaths, trying to pretend he was still asleep. 

“You are a clever one.” Vader’s chilling voice seemed to echo through him. “But you cannot fool me. You are awake, are you not?”

Luke’s heart pounded faster. Vader could tell he was awake. 

What else could he tell? 

“I will not trouble you,” Vader said, sounding farther away now--how close had he been? The thought was frightening. “You still have yet to heal, Shatterlight; but when you are healed, then I will speak with you. We have, after all, much to discuss.” 

There was a creak, as of someone rising from a chair, and then the reverberation of Vader’s heavy footsteps as he left Luke’s room. 

Once Vader was gone, Luke opened his eyes. 

Alone. He was alone, and in a large room; white sheets covered him, and a tube ran out from under his clothes. To his right was a viewport that looked out into the blue of hyperspace. 

He was inside the Empire. He had made it. 

But the next question was...what now? 

  
  


The next time Luke opened his eyes, an Imperial officer was sitting next to him. 

The man was a little above medium height, with hair trimmed short, and a mustache across his upper lip. He sat straight and tall in the chair, and was reading some reports. 

Then, he looked up, his gaze fixing on Luke. 

“You’re awake,” he said crisply, getting to his feet. “How do you feel?”

Luke thought about it. The pain in his abdomen was barely noticeable; and as for his face, it certainly felt like it ached, but only in his nose and one certain spot on his forehead. 

“Better,” he said. “Definitely better.” 

“Good. Lord Vader spared no expense on you.” 

“Vader,” Luke said, pretending to be surprised. “I’m still on the  _ Executor?” _

“Of course. After the stunt you pulled…” The man shook his head. “I had my doubts about you--you don’t look like much more than a boy, after all--but you saved his life.”

Luke’s heart was definitely still pounding--he was on the  _ Executor, _ in Vader’s clutches, no one could save him if he was found out--but he tried to push through it. He had to survive now, and the only way to survive was to act like he belonged here. 

_ Natural. Act natural--you are not Luke Skywalker. Not Skywalker.  _

Luke smiled wryly. 

“I might not look like much,” he said. “But you’d be surprised to hear what I’ve done.” 

“Oh, I know what you’ve done. That’s why I’ve decided to trust you.” The man held out his hand. “Kendal Ozzel.” 

Luke took the hand firmly. “Owen Shatterlight.” 

“Shatterlight? That’s a strange name.” 

“I’m from Tatooine,” Luke said. “Most Tatooine names are.” 

_ The best lies are told with a grain of truth.  _

Ozzel wrinkled his nose slightly, as if anyone Outer Rim was slightly beneath him. 

“Follow me, Shatterlight,” he said. “Lord Vader wants to speak with you.”

Luke tried not to shudder. That was the third time he’d heard that. 

“But before we leave,” Ozzel went on, “we have access to your files now--everything on your name, who you are, where you’ve been, what you’ve done. You don’t mind if we release what we’ve found, do you?”

Luke almost smiled; this was what he’d hoped for. But instead, he had to look slightly uncomfortable. 

“I suppose,” he said stiffly. 

Ozzel nodded, as if he’d expected that. “All right. Follow me.” 

  
  


“You cannot be serious.” Mon Mothma leaned forward. “I don’t believe you. I know you have undergone immense trauma over the destruction of Alderaan, I know that the Rebellion is finally taking some steps forward, but this is too much.” She sighed. “You are going to try to take down the Empire from the inside?”

Leia Organa stared at her, unblinking. 

“Yes,” she said firmly. 

Mothma stared at her before throwing up her hands in frustration. The rest of High Command looked around, down at their laps, up at the ceiling; it was clear that they didn’t approve, either, and they didn’t know what to say. 

“I know it’s a risk,” Leia said. “I know--”

“It is not just a  _ risk,”  _ Dodonna cut in. “It’s impossible! Before the Death Star, we had exactly zero victories over the Empire, and now you want to take it down from the inside?”

“Yes,” Leia said again. “Listen to me. I have resources. I thought this through, and if we do this your way--”

“I know that one of your friends almost died,” Dodonna went on, cutting her off  _ again.  _ “That makes it more personal for you; I understand that. But--”

“Stop cutting me off,” Leia snapped, “and let me explain myself! We destroyed the Death Star, yes. One of our pilots got lucky.” It killed her to leave it at that, but she had to minimize it for now. “And ever since then, the Empire has continued to grow stronger, to pursue us; and it killed many good pilots during the raid, not just Captain Solo. We are going to win by victories...but to do that, we need to have someone on the inside.” 

“This person on the inside,” Mothma said. “This...spy of yours. Is he already inside the Empire?”

Leia licked her lips. She’d known this question was coming, but she didn’t know how to answer it. Because she  _ didn’t know,  _ period. Luke had disappeared eight days ago on his mission--ever since, she hadn’t heard anything. She had scoured the news, checked every file on the Empire, just in case...but nothing had come up. Nothing at all. She didn’t know what had happened to him. 

But she had to trust him. 

So she took a deep breath, leaned back in her chair, and said, “Yes.” 

The room took a collective breath. 

“Already there,” Mothma echoed. “And what is he going to do?”

Leia felt anger flash through her. 

“Do?” she echoed, icily.  _ “Do?  _ He’s a spy. He’s loyal to the Rebellion. I think the vague purpose is easy enough...unless what you  _ want _ is for me to tell you what exactly my plan is and who this spy is, which I’m expecting that you do.” 

“Yes,” Rieekan said, with the tone of a parent trying to calm a child, “that is what we want. But only because--”

“Because you don’t trust me,” Leia said, standing up. “None of you do! At least, you don’t trust me for this. You trust me as a girl, as a tenacious girl who’s good enough in battle, and even better as a poster child. But poster children are only useful for a short time--and if we want to win this war, we’ll have to do it both with victory in battle  _ and  _ with the gathering of intelligence. Unless you had any other ideas?” 

She looked around the room. 

It was dead silent. 

“No,” she said coldly, “I didn’t think so.” 

  
  


Han Solo met her outside the building. 

“Uh-oh,” he said the minute he saw her face. “Someone isn’t having a good day.” 

“Spare me, Solo,” Leia grumbled. “If you’re going to help me with this, you’d better do your best not to be a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, sweetheart, how could you ask me that? That’s what I do best.”

Leia ignored him, and they walked across the base, passing several Alliance officers until they arrived at the small room Leia used for personal debriefings. She ushered them inside. 

“All right, tell me,” he said when she had shut the door. “How’s Luke?”

“I don’t know!” she snapped, then took a deep breath. “I don’t know. Sorry. I’m a little on edge.” 

“I...can tell,” he said hesitantly, as if finding some way to not upset her. “You don’t know? You mean you haven’t heard a word from him?” 

“No.” Leia gripped the edge of her desk. “Can we move on?”

“Uh...yeah, sure.” Han rubbed the back of his neck. “What happened in the meeting? Judging by the look on your face…” 

“It wasn’t good,” Leia told him flatly. “They don’t trust me.” 

“Don’t trust you?” Han scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. They love you.” 

“Those are two different things. They love me the way a parent loves their child. They’re protective. They think I can’t take things into my own hands.” Leia stared him in the eye. “If you think that too, I’ll handle this by myself.” 

“I don’t,” Han said, and the sincerity was obvious in his voice. “I don’t even know how you could worry about that. I saw what you did on the Death Star, and ever since then.”

“All right.” A compliment from him was decidedly strange, but she supposed she’d asked for it. “Well, they don’t trust me. They wanted to know the details--”

“And they can’t know that. Luke can’t be exposed.” Han leaned against the wall. “I hope he’s all right.”

Leia sighed. “Me, too.” 

She wished she could tell him why she was really doing this, she wished she could. She hated being solely responsible for information, hated hiding things from everyone; but if Han found out that all this was being done because she was angry the Empire had almost killed him...he’d leave. He’d think she was being condescending, he’d get angry she had sent Luke into Vader’s clutches just for his sake; so instead, she’d made up some bullshit about never being free of Alderaan, how her nightmares from her torture at Vader’s hands had grown worse and worse, and he’d believed that. And of course, the nightmares  _ had  _ been worse, but it was because Han had almost died, because the Empire had not ceased to hunt for the identity of the pilot who’d destroyed the Death Star...and she had to do something. 

She wished she could tell Han. 

But she couldn’t.

And yet, there was still the persistent feeling that in doing something against the Empire for him, she had condemned Luke. 

“I just…” She sighed. “I just want him to be okay, Han.” 

“I do, too.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Listen, I--I’ll go do some research now, see what I can dig up.” 

Leia nodded, taking deep breaths. “All right. Thank you.” 

“And, you.” He shot her a glare. “Get some rest.” 

Leia shot him a look. 

“Or...not,” he muttered, disappearing into the base. 

Leia closed the door...and then she began to pace. There had to be something she could do, had to be something...she hated this constant sitting around, this waiting, waiting for news, waiting for disaster. She wished she could jump out there and take down the Empire just by shooting at them; but obviously, that was not going to happen. 

_ Luke, please be okay...please be okay… _

He was so young; so,  _ so young.  _ Of course, they were the same age--the day she had found out she shared his birthday had been hilarious--but all the same, he seemed younger. He hadn’t experienced the pressure, the responsibility that she had; he hadn’t been tortured, hadn’t witnessed his entire planet blown up. He was innocent. He believed in the goodness of people…

He was one of the only truly good people she knew. 

He could so easily reveal himself, by accident...he could be found out…

And she knew what that would mean. 

For one horrible moment, Leia was assaulted by an image: Luke, curled up on a cell bench, bleeding from dozens of wounds, screaming and screaming as Darth Vader loomed above him, tearing into his mind--

_ No.  _

Leia closed off that image. 

That would not happen. 

And yet...and  _ yet... _

What if he was found out? 

What had she done? 

_ Stop it,  _ she told herself, furiously wiping the tears from her face.  _ You won’t do any good like this.  _

She was breathing too fast. She took a deep breath, shaky and shallow; then another, and then another. Eventually, she was breathing regularly again. 

“It’s okay,” she said out loud. “Everything will be okay.” 

Slowly, she stood up. She felt marginally better.

“LEIA!” 

The shout echoed down the hall. 

Han. 

Leia was moving in an instant, throwing the door open and running, her feet pounding against the floor until--

She almost ran into Han. 

They both stopped, their faces inches apart. 

Leia quickly backed away, her cheeks flushing. “Uh...sorry.” 

“Come on,” Han panted, not seeming to care. Then he grabbed her arm, and she was being pulled back the way she had come, until they were back into the small room and he’d shut the door. 

“What?” she demanded, out of breath and angry. “What the hell was that all about?”

“Oh, for once just shut up.” Han pulled a holoprojector out of his pocket; instantly, an image was thrown up into the air...an image of Luke. “Do you know what this is?”

Leia frowned. It looked like a profile, and...and she recognized it. 

“Yes,” she snapped. “I set that up, Han, it’s only accessible by our databases.”

“No, but here’s the thing,” he said. “I found this without our passwords.”

Leia struggled to grasp his meaning. Without their passwords...freely browsing...

“The Empire,” she gasped. “That means--”

“Anything on the galaxy-wide database can only be found once it’s approved by the Empire. The Empire’s got him, Leia. He’s  _ with them.”  _ He grinned broadly. “He did it. The kid did it, after all.” 

Leia gasped again, tears coming to her eyes; and then, quickly, she wiped them from her face and turned away, not wanting him to see her like that. 

“You know what this means,” she said, turning back after a few seconds. “Don’t you?”

Han whistled. “Uh-oh. You’ve got that triumphant look in your eyes.” 

“Of course,” she said briskly; now that the worrying was over, it was time to get back to work. “We have things to do.” 


	3. Striving Valiantly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke(AHEM, Owen Shatterlight) meets Darth Vader.

Leia would know. Leia would know he had made it in. 

That was one of the thoughts on Luke’s mind as he was led through the corridors of the  _ Executor  _ by Admiral Ozzel, through twists and turns and many Imperial officers. 

The other thought was  _ what the hell have I gotten myself into? _

He was trying to breathe deeply, stand as tall as he could, give himself the appearance of a bounty hunter who cared about no one else...but it was difficult when he hated Vader with every fibre of his being, when he was terrified of him, when he was the reason for his family’s deaths and Ben’s death and Biggs’ death and Han’s near-death and Leia’s constant nightmares. 

But he was doing this  _ for  _ them. 

This was all for the people who Vader had wronged. 

So he would have to lie, for now. 

Luke was led around several more corners, up a level, across a short bridge, and finally into a small room. 

“Here you go, Shatterlight,” Ozzel said as he ushered him in. 

Luke took a deep breath. 

_ For Leia. For Han.  _

He walked forward.

Two men stood at a table, talking over some sort of military plans; Ozzel joined them, but Luke hardly noticed. Standing at the end of the room, staring out the viewport, was Darth Vader himself. 

Slowly, the Sith Lord turned around. 

Luke froze on the spot. He had only seen Vader at a distance, or looming over him through a fog of pain while he lay injured from the fake assassin; and he looked even more horrifying, more terrifying, than Luke had expected. He was completely encased in that black armor, his durasteel limbs looking as though he could snap Luke’s neck with one hand; and he  _ towered  _ over Luke, over everyone in the room. But worst of all was that mask--it was skeletal, insect-like, and the black lenses seemed to stare into Luke’s soul. 

_ The mission,  _ came a voice in his mind.  _ Think of the mission--think of Leia-- _

_ He doesn’t know you’re a Rebel.  _

_ He doesn’t know.  _

Luke blinked, forcing himself to take deep breaths; and then, trying to seem at ease, he walked forward. 

“Owen Shatterlight,” Vader said, his voice booming in the small room; Luke tried not to flinch. “You have come at last.” 

“Well,” Luke said, his mind running on pure adrenaline, “hard to do when you’re unconscious, isn’t it?”

He winced. 

He wasn’t supposed to say that--he’d just mouthed off to  _ Darth Vader-- _

Ozzel shot him a reproachful look; Vader stared at him. 

Luke swallowed. 

And then, to his surprise, Vader actually barked a short laugh. It sounded brittle, robotic at best; but all the same, he was amused. 

Things were not going to be as terrible as Luke had expected. 

“That would indeed be quite difficult,” Vader said, taking a step toward him. “But now you are here, you are healed, and I must...offer you my gratitude.” The words sounded like they’d been forced from his mouth; clearly, he hadn’t had reason to thank anyone for...maybe his whole life. “You saved my life, Owen...Shatterlight, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Luke said, making himself think only of Owen Shatterlight. Vader had the Force; Luke had felt him mildly probing his mind as he lay, half-conscious, in the bed. He didn’t think Vader would go in and search for everything--that would be his downfall--but if he was mildly aware of what Luke was thinking and got even a hint of who he really was...it would all be over. 

_ I can’t believe I’m actually here,  _ he made himself think.  _ I’ve always dreamed about this, I never thought it would be true. Serving with the Empire, and under Lord Vader, no less.  _

Luke hoped he didn’t have to speak those words out loud. Otherwise he was afraid he might throw up. 

“How did you do it?” Vader asked softly. “Why pursue him? Why not cut him off, or send out a warning signal that an assassin was after me?”

Luke swallowed. He hadn’t thought of that, but…

“It was a spur of the moment thing,” he said. “I was going after a target, which led me onto the  _ Executor;  _ then I discovered the assassin, ascertained that he was going to attempt to kill you, and gave chase. There was no time to warn anyone--that, perhaps, was an oversight. But I…” He tried to look uncomfortable, which was not hard at all. “I just knew that I had to stop him, as fast as I could. I didn’t think, I just moved. That’s how.” 

“Then, Shatterlight.” Vader took a step closer, and another; Luke had to freeze himself in place to stop from cringing away. “You have saved my life, which I have not had much experience with; I would not have died, but I might have been injured. You have done me, and the Empire, a service. The question is…” He took another step, so that there was less than an arm’s length between him and Luke, and tilted his head. “Why?”

Luke swallowed.

This was the difficult part: convincing Vader of his motives. And it couldn’t be too hard; all he had to do was speak the things he’d been making himself think. But they could not sound dishonest, there could not be a grain of nervousness in them, or Vader would suspect him. It would be terribly difficult, when he was standing in front of a man who he both hated and feared, who haunted his nightmares, who would torment him and kill him if he found out who he was, who he wanted nothing more than to kill on the spot; and it was even worse that said man--a loose term--was standing less than a foot away, towering over him like a spectre of death, air from his respirator hissing down over his face. 

But he had to do it. 

_ For Leia,  _ he started to think, then immediately shifted that train of thought to  _ For the Empire. For my family.  _

That last part was true.

_ The Force is with me.  _

And it was. He felt it. 

“I did it because I love the Empire,” he said, lifting his chin to look proudly up at Vader, to fight past his fear and stare into the eyes--or something like that--of the man he hated. “And because I have  _ always _ wanted to serve the Empire.” 

An impression reached him: disbelief. In shock, he realized he was sensing Vader’s feelings. Beyond the surprise that Vader  _ had  _ feelings came fear--he didn’t believe him. His excuse had been worthless…

“You are a bounty hunter,” Vader scoffed. “You kill and capture and collect money for a living. Why do you care for the Empire?”

Suddenly Luke realized that he had yet to give away his entire backstory; wait, he reminded himself, be cautious. Don’t panic.  _ Force,  _ he was  _ so bad  _ at this. 

Besides, Vader had given him a perfect opening. 

“Because the Rebellion killed my family,” he said fiercely, with real passion; because, if he replaced “Rebellion” with “Empire,” he was telling the truth. “My aunt and uncle raised me well, and they were killed by Rebels ten years ago.” 

Once again, Vader stared at him, and Luke had to wait, terrified. 

“Your family,” he murmured at last, and for some reason Luke had the sensation that Vader was speaking about...personal matters. “Interesting. So, naturally, you want revenge--and you turned to bounty hunting; but that was not enough for you.”

Luke shook his head. “No.” 

“But then why save my life? You are seeking revenge. The lives of others should be indifferent to you.” 

The thought made Luke so angry that he opened his mouth, ready to decry the statement; and then he stopped. Luke Skywalker would say that...but not Owen Shatterlight. 

“You have led us against the Rebellion,” he said instead. “You are one of the reasons that they are on the run. When I found out that that assassin meant to kill you, I knew that I had to stop it.” 

“Very interesting,” Vader said. “Interesting indeed.” 

Then he fell silent. Luke stood still, trying to keep standing tall despite the Sith Lord who was at least a foot taller than him, trying to breathe deeply--this was it. What did Vader think of him? It had been a drastic entrance, but the saying was that Vader had no allies; he was a one-man army. He did not need anyone. He did not care for anyone. 

But the three men in the room, clearly, were helping him. 

However, that didn’t mean anything where Luke was concerned. Vader could still throw him out; or worse, he might have figured out who Luke really was, and was about to tell him so…

“Shatterlight,” Vader said, “do you want to serve the Empire?”

_ I want to piss all over it, actually.  _

“Of course,” he said. 

“And--” Vader actually reached out, then, placed a very heavy hand on Luke’s shoulder and leaned into his face, and Luke had to fight desperately against himself not to pull away. “Do you  _ understand  _ what that entails?”

“Not...entirely,” Luke said, struggling to breathe; Vader’s horrifying mask was inches from his face. “But probably something along the lines of murder, bloodshed, and a terrifying life.” 

“No,” Vader said sharply. “That is not what it means. A life in my service, similar to those men you see over there, means nothing but  _ absolute and total loyalty. _ It could mean murder; it could mean bloodshed; it could mean fear. Or it could not. But all of the time, it means that when I tell you to do something, you will  _ do it.”  _ He leaned in closer. “Do you understand?” 

Luke could barely breathe, but he nodded. Vigorously. He wished he could tear himself away, run as fast as he could until he found an escape pod and would never have to be near Darth Vader as long as he lived; but he couldn’t. He had to do it, regardless of the danger. 

“Yes,” he said, his heart pounding. 

Vader released him. 

“Good,” he said, and Luke fought to make himself relax. “Then, I believe I can make you useful.” 

Now it was difficult to breathe again, but for a completely different reason. 

He’d done it. 

Luke wanted to smile, to grin until his face hurt, but he couldn’t. He was Owen Shatterlight. He nodded. 

“Thank you,” he said stoically, “for the opportunity.” 

“I will need to see whether you actually live up to your words,” Vader said, “but I believe that you will do well. And, before I decide what you will actually be doing--” He turned, motioning for Luke to follow him. “I will introduce you to three men with whom you will be working closely.” 

Vader stopped at the table Luke had seen upon entering; they looked up. 

“Gentlemen, this is Owen Shatterlight,” Vader said. “Shatterlight, I believe you already know Admiral Ozzel.” 

“Good to see you made it past the screening process, boy,” Ozzel said. Luke ignored him. 

“Then,” Vader went on, turning toward the tallest of the men, one with military bearing, “this is General Veers. He handles all my military affairs; he has recently been promoted.” Veers saluted, and Vader moved on. “And this is Captain Piett.” 

Piett was a small, mousy sort of man, not too much taller than Luke himself; he was dwarfed by the other three men, and didn’t look like much. But Luke could see an intelligence in his eyes, a wit there, and he knew at once that that wit was the reason he had survived thus far. 

“A pleasure to officially meet you, Owen Shatterlight,” Piett said. 

Luke dipped his head. 

“And now, Shatterlight--” Vader was speaking again, and with an effort, Luke steeled himself. “You are free to go; you must be settled into your new quarters, which have just been furnished.”

Luke sighed.  _ Free to go.  _ Free to be away from Vader, until he was next called on--

“But I still need to speak with you,” he said, “in private.” 

“In private,” Luke echoed, trying to think past the terror pounding in his head. “What do you mean? Couldn’t you speak with me here?”

“No,” Vader said, and Luke knew well enough what that meant: he didn’t want Piett, Veers, and Ozzel to hear. 

He didn’t want his  _ three most trusted officers  _ to hear. 

What was going on? Was he actually planning to kill or torture Luke? 

But then...why would he have introduced him to the three officers? 

_ Wait,  _ Luke reminded himself.  _ Don’t panic.  _

“I would like you to come to my private office,” Vader said, and once again Luke had to calm the panic rising in him. “At 2100, standard time. Do not be late.” 

Then he swept out of the room. 

Luke looked around, not knowing what to do; he supposed, as Vader said, that he should get to his new rooms, see what was inside them. But at the moment, he was still trying to breathe slowly; it was too difficult to rid his mind of the memory of Vader’s grip on his arm, of his mask right there, staring into him--

_ Absolute and total loyalty-- _

There was a hand on his arm, and Luke almost jumped. But it was only Piett. He’d moved away from the table, where Veers and Ozzel were still studying whatever plans they’d drawn up. 

“Sorry about that,” Piett said. “It can be a bit frightening, but you’ll get used to it. Lord Vader simply...has very, very high standards.” 

“I can tell,” Luke said with a small laugh. “But I’m not  _ afraid.”  _

“Ah,” Piett said, as if he were trying to placate him; Luke clenched his fists. Already his image of the stern, untouchable bounty hunter was vanishing. “My apologies, then.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Luke said quickly, then froze; he couldn’t say that. He was supposed to be unconcerned, to not care about anyone else, and only about himself, but it was a little difficult when it ran counter to  _ everything he’d believed for twenty years.  _ “I just...it’s a little strange, I didn’t expect Vader to choose  _ me  _ to work with all of you. Not that I’m lacking in any kind of skill,” he added, trying to infuse his voice with a bit of haughtiness, “but you’re all so much older than me, and he doesn’t even know me. You’ve all been here for years.” 

“Ah, well.” Piett turned to look at him. “I wouldn’t think too much about it. And besides, you saved his life; that’s reason enough. We all serve with him because of our loyalty and skill, and you clearly have both.” 

Luke frowned. “So you don’t know what he wants with me?”

Piett actually laughed. 

“Ahhh,” he said, “so that’s what this is about, is it? You’re not making friends; you’re getting information out of me.” He smiled faintly. “A budding extortionist, are you?”

_ No!  _ Luke wanted to deny hotly, he’d only been asking innocent questions, and he genuinely liked Piett...but that, he realized, was what Luke Skywalker would say. 

Not Owen Shatterlight. 

So instead, he shot Piett a grin that he did not feel. 

“Maybe,” he said slyly, the way Han might have. “It’s second nature to me, I’m afraid.” 

He wanted to add an apology, but Owen Shatterlight wouldn’t do that either. 

He really, really hated this. 

“Oh, I’m sure,” Piett said. “And I don’t hold anything against you. But, no. I truly don’t know what Lord Vader wants with you. As far as I’m aware, he’s desperate to stop the Alliance and find the identity of the pilot who destroyed the Death Star--there could be something else, but there probably isn’t. Vader has high standards, but he also has appreciation for a man with a good skill-set.” 

Luke nodded slowly, as if taking it in. He said no more on the subject--he’d only find out more when he spoke to Vader in the evening--and considered walking away. 

Then he realized that, thanks to something Piett had said, he could continue to prove that he hated the Empire, and completely distance himself from the Alliance. 

“He’s hunting the pilot,” Luke said, “is he?”

“Of course.” Piett sighed. “I’d expect, as an Imperial enthusiast…”

“I’d love to see it happen,” Luke said, making himself sound as bitter as he could. “If Lord Vader wants me to, I’ll even help bring him in, if he’s found.” 

Piett smiled. “I’m sure he’d be happy to let you do that.”

Luke returned the smile. There it was--Piett was closer to trusting him now. 

There was also the fact that he genuinely liked the man, and he wished he could say something more; but that might come later. For now, he knew that Captain Piett would never, ever doubt his allegiance. 

“I’m going to get out of here,” he said. “But I’ll probably see you later.” 

Piett’s smile widened, but it had not yet reached his eyes. “Yes. I’ve never had a wonderful opinion of bounty hunters, but you seem like a good man, Shatterlight. It will be a pleasure working with you.” 

  
  


Hours later, in his new quarters, Luke paced. 

The rooms were nice enough; they were complete with a sitting room, kitchen, bedroom, desk, and wardrobe full of Imperial outfits(it seemed that black and gray were the only colors they knew). But after several hours there, they seemed too small, too claustrophobic; then again, anything would have. Luke had lied to Piett, and he was terrified. 

What did Vader want with him? 

_ What did Vader want with him?  _

Obviously, Piett didn’t suspect anything out of the ordinary; or maybe he did, the man had more depth than Luke had expected. But regardless, he was an ordinary man, and so were the others. Vader was Luke’s enemy. He’d killed his father, and Ben, and tortured Leia, and almost killed Han. There had to be something else going on. The way Vader had leaned down, staring at him, threatening him, as if making  _ absolute sure  _ that Luke was who he said he was…

Vader was suspicious. That much was obvious. 

Luke had done everything, and Vader was still suspicious. He supposed he couldn’t be too surprised; Darth Vader was extremely,  _ extremely  _ powerful in the Force. Of course he’d be suspicious. 

The important question, however, was:  _ how  _ suspicious?

Luke would have to wait and find out. That was turning out to be the worst part of this job, he realized--the waiting. 

Finally, after further hours of thinking in circles and trying not to remember how he’d felt like Vader was staring into his soul, it was time; there were ten minutes left until 2100, and Luke was off at once. He walked quickly through the halls of the  _ Executor,  _ referring back several times to the map of the Star Destroyer he’d been given to help him--the ship was  _ huge-- _ until at last he’d arrived at the door to Vader’s private office. He raised his hand to knock...and then he stopped. 

What if this was his last minute alive?

_ No, that’s absurd. You have to go in.  _

Once again, Luke raised his hand to knock--and then the door opened for him. Vader was standing there in the doorway; Luke’s heart jumped into his throat. 

“Shatterlight,” Vader boomed, and Luke tried to breathe slowly. “On time, I see. Come.” 

Then he turned, and Luke followed. 

The door shut behind them, which was decidedly terrifying. 

Once inside, Vader came around to stand behind something vaguely resembling a desk, but he did not sit down. Luke wished he would. He hated the feeling of being towered over, of feeling incredibly small; he wanted to feel tall and proud and...and in control. But Vader did his best to take all that away. 

“You fear me,” Vader said. 

Luke blinked--denial. He had to deny it. Even more than feeling small, he hated feeling afraid. 

“No,” he shot back. “No, I don’t.” 

“You  _ do.  _ I can sense it. And yet, you deny it.” Vader hooked his thumbs in his belt. “That is commendable.” 

That--what? Had he just given Luke a compliment? 

He should say something about it; he should say something, except that he didn’t want to be talking to Vader at all. So, despite the innate stupidity of such an action, Luke decided to throw out a demand. 

“Let’s get it over with,” he said. “What do you want with me?”

As before in the meeting room, Vader tilted his head, as if studying him. 

“You also have initiative,” he said. “Also a good asset.” 

Luke frowned. Why was he so adamant to keep on talking about this, and not tell Luke the real reason? If there was one. 

“But that is not why I have chosen you.” 

Luke’s breath quickened. So there  _ was  _ another reason. He waited, focused on taking deeper breaths as Vader paced, back and forth across the small room, and then stopped. 

“Let us start with the obvious,” he said. “You are Force sensitive.”

Luke did a double take. 

He knew.  _ He knew.  _ Luke had sensed Vader searching his mind earlier--but he hadn’t thought just that would tell the Sith Lord what he was. But that wasn’t the worst part; the worst part was what it meant. How much had Vader found out? Did he only know that Luke was Force sensitive? Or did he know he’d studied with Ben? Did he know what Luke had done? Did he know...who Luke really was? 

“Calm yourself,” Vader said sharply. “I know nothing more; I will not search for it unless you give me reason to.” 

Luke relaxed, ever so slightly. He could not let his guard down; Vader’s words proved that. He wouldn’t search unless given a reason--so, he could not do anything that would make Vader suspicious. 

“Then you know that you are Force sensitive,” Vader said. “Clearly.” 

“Yes,” Luke said. What point was there in denying it? 

“And why,” Vader demanded, “have you not done anything with it?”

Uh-oh. This, Luke realized, was the one hole in their story; they hadn’t planned for this, and so he did not have a logical reason why a Force sensitive child would become a bounty hunter. 

Luke frowned, trying to make himself look confused. “What?”

“You know what I am trying to say,” Vader said impatiently. “You are Force sensitive; you  _ know  _ that you are Force sensitive. And yet, you did not do anything more with it than become a bounty hunter? You did not seek to join the Empire based on your skill with the Force?”

Luke struggled to think. Vader was right, it was completely not logical--but as he thought about it, he remembered that his optimism, and his desire to do great things, had made him an outcast on Tatooine. Anyone from that planet would be cynical, rough, with no hope for the galaxy. Well, almost anyone. 

Who was to say that Owen Shatterlight wouldn’t be like all the rest?

“You think I would have joined the Empire?” He scoffed. “If I’d come to you saying I had the Force, that was no guarantee I wouldn’t have been killed. Or used, in some way. I want people to take me on for my natural talents, things I’ve done--not things I  _ am.  _ I don’t want to be used. People aren’t good, not by nature; they would’ve used me.  _ You  _ would’ve used me, molded my talents to suit your purposes--and I didn’t want that. I wanted to develop a life for myself. And now that I’m a bounty hunter, you’re going to take me based on  _ those  _ skills. Based on those morals. Not whatever skill I have with the Force.” 

He stopped; and then he realized that what he’d said had probably doomed him. 

Vader was dead silent.

“Shatterlight, you are young,” he said at last. “You may not understand this. But I am going to tell you that whatever skill you have as a bounty hunter is made better by the fact that you are Force sensitive.”

Luke was silent. No need to answer that. 

“And if anyone else had said these words to me,” Vader went on, “I would have killed them. But as it happens, you will be useful to me. You may be able to help me, and you are wise to believe that you are alone in the world. The fear of being used is a wise fear to have. But  _ make no mistake.  _ The only reason that I am accepting your help is  _ because  _ you are Force sensitive. Do you understand why?”

“No,” Luke said. He did understand, but he wanted to hear what Vader said. 

“Of course not,” Vader said. “You, clearly, know nothing of the Force. But I will accept your help because, whatever the other men add, whatever anyone on this ship adds to the service of the Empire, however ruthless they are, not one of them has the Force. I do--and now you do, as well. 

“And what I want with you is this, Shatterlight. You will join Ozzel, Veers, and Piett every morning and every evening for dinner; that way you will get to know them well. You will assist Admiral Piett in finding the location of every important Rebel officer, in hunting down every spy report. You will assist in hunting down the pilot who destroyed the Death Star. But beyond that, if you prove yourself worthy enough, you will become my apprentice.” 

Luke froze. 

He had not expected  _ that.  _

It was shocking, and terrifying, and horrifying--and it made sense. He didn’t know why he hadn’t guessed it before now--maybe because it was so horrifying--but it made sense, of course it did, of course the very first thing Vader would want with the Force sensitive agent who’d saved his life was to make him his apprentice--

And he had to say no. 

Luke couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. If he was spending time with Vader every day...allowing him to teach him the Force, to take over for Ben...it would be sickening. It would be awful. It would disobey every memory, every person he’d ever loved, every moral he lived by. 

But above all that, it would expose Vader to his motives immediately. 

And yet...and yet, if he was to take on this job, how could he say no? 

Vader had mentioned, after all, that he had to prove himself. That gave him a period of...of some time. 

“Uh...how long?” he asked. “When would you like to take me as your apprentice?”

“However long it takes me to trust you,” Vader said. 

Oh. Yes, Luke had been right. He  _ did  _ suspect. He almost asked why Vader didn’t trust him; but that, again, was a question Luke Skywalker would ask. Owen Shatterlight was cynical, and he had just gotten through saying that people weren’t good. 

So, instead, he shrugged. “Fair enough.” 

“You are dismissed,” Vader said. “But remember, none of what I have told you can leave this room.” 

“Of course,” Luke said. 

“Then, Shatterlight, may the Force be with you.” 

Luke shivered. He’d heard those words from Ben. 

He had said them to Han. 

But, coming from Darth Vader, they felt much,  _ much  _ more ominous. 

He was in a game now, a game for his very life--and if he did not win, he would be killed. 

  
  


The following morning, Luke met his three new coworkers for breakfast. They all welcomed him with smiles, but there was a coldness behind their eyes, even for Piett. These men were playing the same game for their lives--well, not quite as much as Luke was, they weren’t spies--and they would not accept him easily. 

_ Maybe,  _ Luke thought,  _ they haven’t yet accepted each other, either.  _

But soon he found that that wasn’t quite true. Veers and Piett--whose first names, he learned, were Maximilian and Firmus--seemed to be on a very friendly basis. Veers and Ozzel were not quite as close, but told several jokes and offered one another frequent smiles. The two that did not seem to be quite as close were Ozzel and Piett; they would smile, but it was the same smile they offered to Luke, and their answers to one another seemed quite...cold. 

“Lord Vader is working with me personally today,” Piett announced quietly. “I’ll need to leave in a few minutes; we’re discussing several possible names for the pilot.”

Ozzel frowned. “Are you sure? He’s had me on that case for weeks.” 

“Did you receive a message?” Piett asked coolly. “If not, I’d imagine it’s just me.”

The look Ozzel gave him was one of pure loathing. 

Interesting. 

Perhaps, Luke thought, that was something he could use. 

He experienced several days like this: days in which he memorized the interior of the  _ Executor,  _ learned to live like an Imperial, and got to know his three new coworkers a bit better. Occasionally, Vader would show up at their meetings; he did not say much of anything, but the whole time, Luke could feel Vader watching him. Testing him. 

_ However long it takes me to trust you,  _ he’d said. 

So that, then, must be Luke’s goal. He had to get Vader to trust him, or else he would not be given the information that he needed. 

But when that happened, then Vader would train him. 

_ One day at a time,  _ he tried to tell himself,  _ take it one day at a time. Wait. Be patient.  _

But that was incredibly different to do when he woke sweating every morning, from nightmares of Vader killing his friends in front of him, finding out who he was and ordering Veers to torture him, of torturing him himself, tearing into his mind with the Force, of the red lightsaber piercing him through the chest. 

One day, he woke to find a message waiting for him. Quickly, he opened it, and a terrifyingly life-sized hologram of Vader popped up. 

“Shatterlight,” Vader’s hologram said, managing to sound as authoritative as the Sith Lord did in real life. “Come to my office immediately.” 

Fresh off a nightmare of Vader forcing him to watch as Leia was killed repeatedly, that was too much; Luke’s mind immediately went spiraling, wondering what he could want, imagining that he’d found out, and soon he was curled on the floor, hyperventilating. 

“I can’t do this,” he gasped over and over, “I can’t, I can’t--”

He saw Leia’s face again, in pain--

_ You’re doing this for Leia. You’re doing it for her, and Han. You have to do it.  _

He had to do it. 

So Luke crawled toward the fresher, vomited up the contents of his stomach, dressed himself, and went off to see Darth Vader. 

When he arrived, Piett was already there. 

_ Again?  _ he thought.  _ Ozzel must be furious.  _

But Piett offered him a smile, and Ozzel had never really been nice to Luke...so Luke decided he didn’t care. 

“Shatterlight,” Vader said, “do you know why you are here?”

“No,” Luke said, and sensed something like amusement from Vader. 

“Then I will enlighten you. You and Piett will be taking a company to Aquilae to hunt down rumors of Rebel activity there. Once you leave, the squadron, intelligence force, and entire entourage will be in your command.” 

“In...my…” Luke stuttered. “What?” 

He had only been here for two weeks, and Vader was already entrusting him with this? Why? 

“You have done well in your time here. You must not mention this to anyone, even on the  _ Executor _ ; if the Alliance finds out about this, it could be disastrous. But I believe that if Piett is with you, you will accomplish great things for me. ” 

Ah. So he still had a babysitter, then; it made sense. 

“All right,” Luke said. “What do I have to do?”

Vader produced a holoprojector; an image of something--a contract, Luke realized--rose into the air in front of him. 

“You’ll sign here,” Piett told him, pointing to a line at the bottom...a line that was already taken up by one name. 

Kendal Ozzel. 

Luke stared...and stared again. He was replacing Ozzel. Maybe not in all things--Ozzel was still Admiral, after all--but this was a pretty big deal. Ozzel would be left behind while Luke and Piett hunted Rebels. 

_ He’s not going to be happy,  _ was Luke’s first thought. 

Then, a second thought struck him. 

_ What had Ozzel done?  _

Vader pressed a combination of buttons on the holoprojector; there was a chime, and Ozzel’s name vanished, leaving the space blank. 

“Go ahead, Shatterlight,” he said. 

Luke glanced at Piett, who was staring at him with a rather dangerous look in his eyes. As was becoming usual, Luke had no choice. Raising his hand, he signed his fake name. 

There was another chime, and the contract vanished. 

“There,” Vader said. “Now it is legal and binding, and you have full authority over the company. I have even given you your own account; with our permission, you may pay or further approve any transactions that are to be made.” 

_ Transactions.  _ He wasn’t talking just about money, Luke knew; he was talking about prisoners. About the capture of Rebels. 

_ His  _ capture. 

“Thank you, Lord Vader,” was all he said. 

“You leave tomorrow,” Vader said. “Be ready. And when you return, Shatterlight…” He looked straight at Luke. “I will meet with you.” 

Luke knew very well what that meant. It meant that when he returned, he would have proven his worth; it meant that Vader would want to start training him. 

He tried not to shudder. 

  
  


That night at dinner, Luke came prepared, and he was right to be. They were served a wonderful meal, and Veers had a delightful story of the success he’d made with the Rebels; all intelligence reports detailed, according to him, that the Alliance was protecting someone. Likely, the person who’d destroyed the Death Star. (Luke could tell this would lead them nowhere, so he went along with it.) In other words, dinner was meant to be entertaining. 

The whole time, Ozzel didn’t look at Luke. 

And then, as they were leaving the mess hall, Luke saw the Admiral shoot him a dark, loathing look. 

Yes, Ozzel was jealous, all right. But for the time being, Luke couldn’t do anything about it. 

  
  


That night, Luke couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, tried lying down with no blankets, tried taking pills for sleeping; none of it worked. His mind was too full of anxiety, worthless worries, and every time he closed his eyes he saw some horrifying new future unfold: one in which Ozzel figured out who he was and got revenge, another in which Vader knew he’d destroyed the Death Star and was sending him off as a death sentence in disguise, another in which the Empire actually did find the Rebels and he couldn’t stop them...and no matter which horrifying outcome it was, it always, always ended in Leia’s death. 

_ “Luke,”  _ he imagined her saying before she died,  _ “you could have done something.”  _

Luke’s eyes flew open. 

He had to do something. 

He had been here as a spy for two weeks, and he’d done nothing. And he knew that he was supposed to lay low, was supposed to wait, but…

He had to do something, all the same. 

Before Luke could fully process what he was doing, he was dressed and out of his rooms. Piett was usually awake this time of night; maybe Luke could get something out of him. He was the one person on this ship who Luke could say was his friend, after all--if nothing else, talking to him might calm Luke’s fears. 

But when he reached Piett’s suite of rooms...the Captain wasn’t there. 

“Hello?” he called for a third time as he stood outside--and then, an idea struck him. After making sure that no one was looking--damn, the  _ Executor  _ was terrifying at night, with no one around--Luke reached out with the Force, used it to open the door, and slid inside. 

“Hello?” he called again, just to make sure. 

No one answered. 

He didn’t yet know how to reach out with the Force and sense ordinary people’s presence, so he would have to settle for that. Leaving the lights off, feeling his heart pound like the beat of a war drum, he took a step forward. 

Something rammed into his knee. 

“Who’s there?” Luke clutched his knee and moved forward--but it was only the desk. In the dark, unable to see, he’d rammed into the edge of the desk. 

Feeling slightly ridiculous, Luke edged sideways and found something round. 

His eyes had grown used to the dark now, and if he squinted, he could make out a doorknob. Slowly, determined to be quiet after his literal run-in with the desk, Luke opened the door. 

He stared down at a long, white staircase. 

_ This is a bad idea. This is a catastrophically bad idea-- _

Luke took a step forward, then another. Nothing happened...so he closed the door behind him. 

_ No need for anyone to know I’m in here.  _

It was almost completely dark ahead of him. Luke shivered. 

But he kept going nonetheless, moving carefully down each step, fearing what was going to happen to him when he reached the bottom of the stairs--but once he had set foot on what appeared to be a lower level and flicked on the lights, there was no one waiting with a blaster to shoot him. 

Still, he couldn’t be too careful. 

Luke walked forward slowly. He was standing in a small room; there were several chairs arranged, as for a meeting, but no one was there...and immediately in front of him was a desk. Quickly, with a glance over his shoulder, Luke opened the drawers and began to search.

_ I’m insane,  _ he thought to himself repeatedly,  _ I’ll be caught any minute, I have to be insane… _

But he didn’t stop. 

After about a minute of looking, carefully so as not to leave anything amiss, Luke came up with a small hard drive. After inserting it into his own holodevice, it pulled up a long file, and he began to scroll through it. As he read, several phrases began to stick out. 

_ Aquilae, Felucia, Hoth _

_ Surprise attack _

_ Ransom pilot once identity is known _

_ Explosives, arms, etc. - forty thousand  _

The first thought in Luke’s head was that Piett was clearly much more than an ordinary Captain, perhaps on his way to replacing Ozzel as Admiral, if he was privy to all of this. 

The second thought was  _ these are all the plans the Empire has.  _

Then Luke read on, and he had to grab the desk for support. 

_ Second Death Star in the works.  _

Second Death Star. 

If they found his identity, after outing him as a spy, and ransomed him... _ and  _ knew the Rebels were on Hoth... _ and  _ had forty thousand new blasters and explosives and more... _ AND  _ had a second Death Star…

The Alliance was doomed. 

Unless…

Luke looked over his shoulder again--he could literally feel his heart racing, he had to get out of here--before pressing a button on the side of the holodevice; the information was saved. Then, he had returned the drive back to the drawer, closed the desk, and was running back the way he had come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a Spotify playlist for this fic! It's not super long, but these are songs and film scores that inspired some parts of this fic. No spoilers here, don't worry. Also don't be confused by the name of the playlist; it's a John Mulaney quote because I love him and that's what I do for all my playlists 😂  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/44hIxLHmobohUP0t98UWhX?si=becee0RSTteX0VBF2cakUA


	4. A Worthy Cause

Something was beeping. Very loudly. 

“No,” Leia muttered as she lay on her stomach, face planted into her pillow. “Five more minutes.” 

The thing beeped again. 

She sat up with a snarl. 

“Oh, would you shut up, you--”

Leia’s eyes opened to see R2-D2 right next to her bed. 

“Artoo,” she said, forcing herself to sound more pleasant. “Sorry about that, last night was exhausting.” Last night had been another stressful meeting with High Command. “What is it?”

He beeped again, and in her half-dead state Leia had to make herself focus on what he was saying, but finally she made it out: 

_ A message. Message for you.  _

She was awake instantly. 

“Show me,” she said. 

Artoo beeped, and then an image was projected: it was a file, long, complicated, and undoubtedly Imperial. There was no name on it, no other message attached; but as she read through the list of things, each more horrifying than the next, that the Empire planned to do, she knew exactly who’d sent it. 

“Luke,” she breathed. 

  
  


The following morning, Luke left for Aquilae. 

He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t nervous. Of course, he’d been nervous every day since he arrived here, but today seemed set to outclass them all. He was headed to Aquilae, to find a Rebel base that he knew wasn’t there, leading an Imperial company of a thousand, in search of...himself. 

He was supposed to succeed, for the sake of keeping up his disguise, and saving the Rebellion; and the minute he got back, Vader was going to start training him, and he’d be found out, and he’d fail the Rebellion. 

Right. Right, this was going to be  _ just fine.  _

Veers was there to see them off, as well as Vader and several stormtroopers...and then there was Ozzel, lurking behind everyone else. 

That did not bode well. 

“I await news of your success,” Vader said, to everyone. Then, he looked directly at Luke. “And then, Shatterlight, I will await your presence specifically.”

_ Training.  _ That would have been reason for terror, except that Ozzel continued to stare at him--and Luke didn’t know which was worse. 

After they were debriefed, Luke decided to try to smooth things over. 

“Apologies, Ozzel,” he said, trying to sound...well, sort of stiff about it, as if he were not used to apologizing. “If only you could accompany us.” 

“If only,” Ozzel said, a bit sourly. “Just make sure you stay in Lord Vader’s good graces.” 

Luke frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Ozzel looked around, towards Vader and Piett; they were discussing something. Luke knew that look, he realized; Ozzel was making sure no one could hear them, so he leaned closer. 

“Lord Vader has high standards,” Ozzel said. “I’ve fallen a bit out of favor; I don’t know what I did. I just know that he seems to favor Firmus more. But, Shatterlight, I will warn you. No matter how skilled or important you are, sneaking round the Lady Ex past curfew is a wonderful way to get yourself fired...or worse.” 

Luke stared. He knew--he’d seen him--he  _ knew-- _

Ozzel was smiling. 

“See you later, kid,” he said, sauntering away. 

Luke could only stare after him, speechless. He knew--well, he didn’t  _ know.  _ He had no idea Luke was a spy--probably--but he’d seen him sneaking around, seen him in Piett’s chambers...and now Luke was leaving on a mission…

And Ozzel was here with Vader…

Free to tell him anything...

A hand touched Luke’s arm. He jumped. 

“Take it easy,” Piett said. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Luke said, but Vader was staring at him. Shaking off his fears, he turned away, forcing a smile. “Let’s get out of here.” 

  
  


The small ship they were taking had barely left; Luke stood on the bridge, watching hyperspace roll by. Piett stood beside him. 

“Ever been to Aquilae before?” he asked. 

Luke thought about lying, but he’d told enough lies. People would suspect him less if he told part of the truth. 

“No,” he said. “I haven’t needed to.”

“Yes, you are a man of necessity, aren’t you? If it doesn’t matter to you, then you won’t do it.” Piett sighed. “Shatterlight, you need to learn to live a little. Be human.”

Luke arched an eyebrow at him. “This coming from a stuffy Imperial captain.” 

Piett laughed quietly. “I’m serious, kid. Look, I know you’ve been on the run for years, you’ve been surviving, eking out a living for yourself...but you have to look around every once in a while. Slow down, enjoy life; it moves pretty fast, after all.” 

Luke didn’t know what to say. Those words were, in fact, similar to something he’d told Han once. 

“Maybe,” he said softly. “I don’t know. I guess if I give in, if I look around...I’ll get caught off guard. And I never want to be caught off guard again.” 

He was thinking of what had happened with Han. 

Luke Skywalker had been through a dozen battles. He’d lost Ben, Biggs, barely survived the Death Star, almost died a thousand other times; but he’d remember the sight of the  _ Falcon  _ being blown out of the sky, the sound of Han screaming in surprise, for the rest of his life. 

“Shatterlight...Owen,” Piett corrected himself, putting a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “You’ve had a hard life for someone so young. Maybe this is the beginning of a better life for you.” 

“I’d like to think so, too.” Luke smiled. “Firmus.” 

There, he thought. I’ve managed to naturally become friends with Firmus Piett and not become suspect. 

Maybe this wouldn’t be so disastrous after all. 

**_Shatterlight._ **

Luke cried out and clutched at his forehead, dropped to his knees; dimly he could hear Piett asking what was wrong, could feel him there, but none of it pierced the distinct terror, the bone-chilling horror of having Darth Vader  _ in his mind.  _

_ Out,  _ he wanted to say,  _ get out, get out of my head,  _ but at the last second he remembered his persona, the grim existence of Owen Shatterlight, and stopped. 

_ What is wrong?  _ Vader’s voice in his head demanded, loud and clear and  _ right there,  _ right next to him. For all Luke knew he could’ve been right in the ship.  _ You have sensed something.  _

Sensed something? Sensed it? Luke struggled to remember, to think past the pain in his head; and then he remembered the hangar bay, after Ozzel had spoken to him...Vader had been looking at him. 

Luke must have  _ looked  _ terrified. 

So Vader thought he had sensed a disturbance in the Force. 

That was all, he reminded himself. That was all. It was all right. 

No. No, it wasn’t all right, because Vader was in his head and if Luke didn’t give him a reason soon, he was going to begin  _ searching.  _

_ Luke,  _ Vader said, and Luke froze--he’d never felt such terror.  _ Who is Luke?  _

He’d slipped. 

No, he hadn’t, he had not slipped, he tried to make himself think. Be strong. Be strong like Owen Shatterlight. Be strong...like the  _ real  _ Owen. 

Besides, Leia had given him a back-up plan. 

Luke had never spoken inside his head at all, had never even thought about it; but now he would have to. He focused on the horrible, awful presence in his mind, much as he hated it, as much as it made him want to crawl under a blanket, and thought. 

_ It’s a name,  _ he thought, trying to make it sound like the truth. _ A name I heard, from one of the Rebel spies, last night.  _ Then, he decided to make Ozzel’s information void.  _ He wanted to meet me.  _

_ And why,  _ Vader demanded, and Luke flinched at the anger there,  _ did you not tell me?  _

_ No one else is to know that I have the Force,  _ Luke thought back stubbornly.  _ They can’t know. I didn’t want to say it in front of everyone else.  _

There was...hesitation from Vader, then, as if he didn’t know what to say. 

_ Very well,  _ he growled at last.  _ It was not a mistake--but you will not wander out at night to meet mysterious spies without my permission. Understood? _

_ Yes.  _

_ Then these are your next instructions: go to Aquilae, conduct the investigation as promised, but hunt especially for someone by the name of Luke. There was no last name? _

_ No,  _ Luke thought back, trying to make it ring of truth; which was difficult, given that this was his first time communicating through his mind. 

_ That makes this difficult. But now you know where to look.  _ **_Find the pilot._ **

Then, Vader’s presence was completely gone. 

Luke sat back, gasping for breath and clutching his head. As his vision cleared, Piett leaned forward. 

“Owen,” he said. “Owen, can you hear me?”

“Ye--yes,” Luke gasped. “Oh…” He rubbed at his temples. “Oh, shit.” 

“What?” Piett demanded. 

“I…” Luke shook his head. “It’s between me and Vader. I can’t tell you.” 

  
  


“Wedge,” Han said. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Wedge was surprised. He didn’t think he was supposed to be part of this until the Empire found out about Luke’s identity, but whatever Han had must be important. 

“Sure thing,” he said. “What do you want?”

“Come here,” Han said, pulling him into a supply closet. 

Wedge smirked. “Listen, Solo, if you dragged me all the way here to kiss me--”

“You’re not my type,” Han snapped, and Wedge realized it was one of those days. He sobered up. “Listen, we’ve got a message from Luke, and you’ve got to know about it.” 

Before Wedge could ask, Han pressed a button on a holoprojector, and suddenly he was staring at what looked like a file. 

“Han, what--” 

Then he started to read. 

_ Hoth. Ammunition. Ransom pilot. Second Death Star.  _

“We have to get Luke out of there,” Wedge said. 

But Han shook his head. “That’s what I told Leia; she wishes she could. But the kid’s in too deep now. We have this list of information, but it’s not enough. We have to know  _ what exactly  _ the Empire is going to do next.”

“Okay,” Wedge said, trying not to panic; the Empire was literally on Luke’s tail, and Luke was  _ right there.  _ “So...how long until we know?”

“Luke’s going on an assignment. Leia tracked the Empire’s movements to see if they were coming here; they aren’t, not yet, they’re going to Aquilae. And we know that one Owen Shatterlight is going with them. Once he gets back, hopefully, we’ll know. And until then…” Han flicked off the holoprojector and pushed it toward Wedge. “You’ll be keeping this.” 

“Me?” Wedge demanded, incredulous. “Why the hell are you giving this to me?”

“Because Leia and I are both targets,” Han said sharply. “I almost got killed a couple months ago, and Leia...well, that’s out of the question. Nothing’s gonna happen to her,  _ not _ on my watch. You’re our best bet.” 

Wedge studied Han carefully. There had been real anger in his eyes when he’d suggested that anything could happen to Leia. 

“Uh...all right,” he said. “Sure. I’ll watch over it.” 

Han glared at him. “You  _ swear?” _

“I swear,” Wedge said, lifting up his hands in surrender. “But the minute it gets out that Luke Skywalker destroyed the Death Star, take this away from me.” He shuddered. “In Luke’s place, I’m gonna be the number one target in the galaxy.”

“I’m counting on it,” Han said with a wink. 

  
  


They had come out of hyperspace, and the Aquilae system awaited them. 

Luke stood on the bridge, staring anxiously at the planet they were approaching. The dilemma still raged in his mind. For the first time, he had looked at the full breakdown of just how they were going to find out whether the Rebels were here, and he wished he’d never come. He had a terrible, awful task ahead of him...but he would have to do a good job, or Vader would suspect him. 

And then he would receive training, and Vader would find out anyway…

_ One day at a time,  _ he told himself.  _ Take it one day at a time.  _

But the thing he had to do...

“Are you ready, Owen?” Piett clasped his shoulder. “This is the day you’ve been waiting for.” 

Luke forced a smile. “I’m beyond ready.” 

Aquilae looked ordinary enough; it had plains and forests, a moderate climate, and several cities. When Luke walked down the ramp, the ground felt soft under his feet. He waited there outside the ship while all the company was gathered; then he spoke. 

“We have several jobs to do,” he said. “Troopers, go into the capital and get the people into their houses. Piett and I will follow, accompanied by our escort, and order the governor to send all the Rebels to us. If she will not, then I will inform you. And...if that is so…” Luke swallowed, struggling to take a breath. This was the hard part. “You must fire on the capital.” He turned away. “Leave no survivors.”

“Yes, sir,” said the squadron leader. They took to discussing tactics, and Luke took the opportunity to retreat into his own thoughts. He had agreed to do it, he knew he had to do it to show his loyalty...but all the same…

He could not give the order for innocent people to be killed. 

He  _ could not do it.  _

But he had to. 

“Shatterlight.” One of the stormtroopers was speaking; Luke would have to think about it later. Reluctantly, he turned back to them. “Your final orders?”

“Wait until nightfall,” he said. “Then move out.” 

  
  


_ The pilot is Luke Skywalker. The pilot is Luke Skywalker.  _

_ He destroyed the Death Star.  _

_ He will DIE!  _

Leia Organa woke up with a shout. 

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since Luke had disappeared inside Vader’s ranks; he would be on Aquilae now, if the plans he’d sent them were any good. When he returned, when he finished his mission...somehow, he would find a way to tell her what the Empire’s plan was. Somehow. 

But what if he didn’t? 

And then there was the matter of these horrible dreams she kept having. 

From the beginning, Leia realized, she had never had a back-up plan. She needed one now. 

_ Who is your spy?  _ Mothma had asked her the night before.  _ Leia, who is the spy? We need to know.  _

They could not know. Leia couldn’t even risk the possibility of it getting out. 

She had refused. And they had given her a week to finish her plan; they had had no choice. Then they would be leaving Hoth and relocating to a different planet--Leia’s spy being so close to Vader had put them in danger--and Luke would have no chance of getting back to them. 

And, because they thought Luke Skywalker was on Jedha, they would never know.

They were boxing her into a corner. They were offering her two options, and she would have to invent a third. They had no idea it was Luke, and she couldn’t tell them; but somehow, she had to make sure that Luke could escape the Empire alive. 

She marched out of her quarters, only a robe wrapped over her pajamas, and kept walking until she found Han and Wedge, who were fortunately together, playing a game of sabacc. 

“Uh...Leia,” Han said, looking shocked at her appearance. “Don’t you want to...I mean…” 

“Oh, forget it,” she snapped, yanking them both up and pulling them with her. She walked until she had reached her private office. “Now. I am going to tell the two of you what I have planned. You’re going to listen. You’re not going to say a word. You’re going to memorize this plan, every word of it. And then you’re going to pull it off with a brilliance not even the Empire could manage.” 

  
  


Something was stirring in the Force. Something unseen, but terrible. 

Something was wrong. 

The thought struck Vader without warning as he stood on the bridge:  _ something is about to happen.  _ Immediately he was reaching into the Force, searching for the origin of this disturbance, until…

The pilot. 

This had to do with the pilot who had destroyed the Death Star. 

Something was about to happen, and he had to stop it. 

“Lord Vader!” 

Admiral Ozzel was hurrying toward him. Vader barely reined in his fury. Ozzel was a very skilled man, but he was beginning to outlive his usefulness, and if he didn’t do something soon, Piett would be Admiral. 

“What is it, Admiral?” he demanded. “Make it quick.”

“I--I should have told you before now,” Ozzel said. “I should have--”

“Then  _ why didn’t you?” _

“I don’t know,” Ozzel stammered. “I don’t know. But last night, Owen Shatterlight was roaming around.” 

Vader’s fury reached a boiling point. Of course Ozzel was jealous of Shatterlight, of course; he’d seen it building over the past week, and he had run out of patience. Shatterlight was about to be his key to finding the pilot  _ and  _ overthrowing the Emperor, and Ozzel seemed determined to stand in his way. 

“Of course he was,” Vader snapped. “He was meeting a spy with information about the Alliance!” 

“But--” Ozzel looked as though he hadn’t expected  _ that.  _ “No, no. He wasn’t doing that, I can assure you, Lord Vader. He didn’t speak to anyone! He went sneaking around, as if he was in trouble, and then--”

His words were cut off in a sharp wheeze. 

Several officers turned around with a gasp; the others pointedly ignored what was happening. Vader paid attention to none of them. 

“Admiral,” he said as Ozzel scrabbled at his throat for breath, “I would have thought that you would have learned not to question me. I would have thought that you, an esteemed admiral in your own right, would know that when I choose someone to serve me, I am trusting them with great responsibility. Perhaps  _ you  _ are the disturbance I have felt, or perhaps not; but regardless of that, you have attempted to discredit the finest officer I have employed in years. Owen Shatterlight not only saved my life, but he has proven a responsible and capable young man. He is off to do a job far better than you would have performed it.”

Ozzel’s eyes started to roll back in his head. 

“Firmus Piett will be a far better admiral than you, I believe,” Vader said coldly, “Owen Shatterlight will go on to even greater things...and both of them will certainly never be foolish enough to question my wishes.” 

He let Ozzel’s body drop to the ground. 

“I hope this is a lesson well learned,” he said as he swept off the bridge, ignoring the stares of his crew. As he went, he motioned for one of the officers to follow him. 

“What is it, Lord Vader?” the officer asked, his voice trembling. 

“Get me Admiral Piett,” Vader ordered; after witnessing Ozzel’s death, the officer would understand. “I am going to Aquilae myself.” 


	5. The Triumph Of High Achievement

_ I can’t do it. I can’t.  _

_ I can’t kill five hundred thousand people.  _

Luke had attempted sleeping exactly once. He’d hardly closed his eyes before visions of Han dying, of Vader torturing Leia, of buildings going up in flames assaulted him. 

_ “You killed,”  _ the Alliance would tell him; he wouldn't be welcome back. They’d try to kill him for what he’d done.  _ “You killed thousands of innocent people by order of the Empire! You are no Jedi. You’re nothing like Anakin Skywalker--you’re like Darth Vader!”  _

_ Murderer...murderer… _

Then he’d once again found himself vomiting into the fresher. 

When it stopped, and Luke was leaning over the counter, pale, sweaty, and shaking, he happened to look up into the mirror. He was astonished by his appearance. For almost a month, he’d made an image of himself: hardened, calm, untouchable. It had been difficult at first, but soon the grim expression he made himself practice had become natural. He may have been twenty years old and short, but he’d seen it in the eyes of every officer on the  _ Executor:  _ Owen Shatterlight was not to be messed with. 

Luke did not see that in the face that looked back at him now. Now, he only saw weakness, and terror, and exhaustion. This face was not hardened, was not untouchable. This was the face...of a boy. A scared boy who was out of his depth. 

Slowly, wiping the tears from his face, Luke looked at the mirror. 

What was the face that looked back? 

Was it Luke Skywalker? Was it Owen Shatterlight?

Or was it someone else? 

It was certainly not Owen Shatterlight, he decided. Shatterlight was unbreakable, unattached...strong. The face that looked back at him was not. 

The face that looked back at him was...him. It was Luke Skywalker, as he was, without armor, without disguise, and suddenly Luke realized just how unfit he really was for all this. He’d crafted this persona for himself, but he couldn’t live up to it. He wasn’t strong, like Leia, or resourceful, like Han. He was just a kid who, despite  _ everything,  _ was too weak and optimistic for his own good. 

Maybe that was a bad thing. Maybe it was a good thing, although he didn’t know how good; most of the people he’d met, to his dismay, were nothing like him. But whatever it was, he knew one thing. 

He, Luke Skywalker, could not kill innocent people. 

And, because he knew that the Rebellion was nowhere near Aquilae, he was going to have to kill innocent people. 

Almost before he knew it he’d curled up on the floor and sobs were escaping him: heavy, intense sobs that broke out of him all at once, that wracked his frame. He didn’t know how long it lasted; it could have been seconds, or minutes, or hours that he cried--for himself, for the Alliance, for his family, for his father, for everything he’d betrayed just to take down the Empire. But when it stopped, and he laid his head back against the wall, feeling wrung out and exhausted, there was only one thought in his mind. 

_ I want to go home. _

He hadn’t thought about the Alliance in weeks; he hadn’t thought about his friends, about his own bed, about Artoo, about Han...about Leia. Suddenly he wanted to hug all of them--he wanted to be back where he belonged. 

He wanted to leave, and forget about the Empire. 

But he couldn’t. 

So instead, Luke just sat there, head tucked between his knees, and tried not to pity himself. 

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Luke barely registered it. 

Then the person knocked again. 

“Owen?” said Piett’s voice. 

Luke’s first instinct should have been panic--he should have cleaned himself up immediately, should have scrambled to his feet, put on the facade of Owen Shatterlight. But for the first time in weeks, he realized that he didn’t care. 

The door opened, and Piett entered; Luke saw him freeze. He didn’t care about that either. He felt more exhausted than he’d felt in his whole life. 

“Owen,” Piett said softly, sounding more shocked than Luke had expected him to. “What...what’s wrong?”

Bleary-eyed, Luke lifted his head to look up at him. 

“I can’t,” he said, not having the energy to speak above a whisper. “I can’t, I can’t do it.” 

Piett stared at him...and then, a look of understanding came into his eyes. 

“You’re not a bounty hunter,” he said. 

Luke should have been stunned, horrified, at that emission. But all he could do was shake his head. 

“But everything else about you is true?”

There was still enough sense in his brain, enough there that Luke knew he had to keep up some version of this lie. He nodded his head. 

Then there was movement, and the captain was kneeling in front of him. Piett looked at him for a long time, a mixture of emotions in his eyes; Luke just looked back, feeling numb. He’d felt so much in the last hour, it was as if he didn’t feel anything now. 

“I knew it,” Piett said at last. “I knew it. Not obviously, not consciously, but I wondered from time to time, and...you’re a  _ kid,  _ Owen.” He studied Luke for another moment, as if seeing him for the first time. “You’ve been playing the part of a grim survivalist for weeks, when actually...you’re just a kid who wants the best for everyone.”

Minus the “Owen” part, it was all true. It was  _ exactly  _ true, it was  _ everything  _ he’d been feeling for the past month. Luke felt himself begin to crack open again, against his wishes; once again, the dam was threatening to burst, but this time he wasn’t going through it alone. 

“I don’t know why you’re here,” Piett went on, continuing to speak gently to him. It struck Luke that it was the kind of tone one might use to calm a child, which ordinarily would have irritated him, would have seemed patronizing...but strangely, right now he didn’t mind. “I don’t know what your goal was besides serving the Empire, but I know you’re a good, honest kid, and whatever you’re going to do...it’ll be the right thing.” 

Luke couldn’t help it. As it turned out, those were the exact words he had needed to hear, so he burst into tears. 

Piett drew back instantly. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Did I say something wrong? I thought--”

“No,” Luke sobbed. “Don’t apologize, I…” He wiped furiously at his face with his hands, though that did almost nothing to help his predicament. “I haven’t felt like I can do  _ anything  _ right, I--” It was almost impossible to speak through his sobs. “And I want to do a good job, but I can’t order innocent people to be killed--” Despite his best wishes, he sobbed harder. “I  _ can’t,  _ it’s not who I am.” 

At last he ran out of things to say, and he fell silent, minus the sobs that came harder, stronger; he thought he’d cried enough, but now that Piett was in the room, it was as if all his emotions had come back. Fortunately, as before, Piett didn’t say anything against him; instead, he reached forward and gently pulled Luke against him, so his head rested on the captain’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” Luke tried to say, feeling somewhere between terrified, sad, and embarrassed. “I should be stronger than this--”

“No, no,” Piett said quietly, running a hand repeatedly through Luke’s hair; the motion was vaguely soothing. “Don’t say that. It’s all right; we all have moments like this.” 

“Not you, I bet,” Luke mumbled. 

“Not me? Don’t be ridiculous. You wouldn’t believe some of the mistakes I made my first few weeks on the  _ Executor.  _ And in case you didn’t notice, I’m a bit older than you.” 

Luke smiled faintly into Piett’s jacket. 

The captain held him there for another minute or so, then pushed him back and looked him in the eye. After a moment, he got up, left the fresher, and came back with a glass of water. Luke drank all of it. 

“There,” Piett said. “Feeling better?” 

Luke nodded slowly. He was still feeling a general sense of self-doubt and terror, but it was dulled now. Much as he hated to admit, breaking down in front of someone who’d been willing to comfort him had helped. 

It also helped that for the first time in weeks, he was allowed to be himself. 

“Yes,” he said, his voice sounding rough. “I’ll do it...but I still don’t want to order the deaths of innocents.” 

“I know. It never should have been asked of you.” Piett sighed. “It may not come down to that.” 

Luke knew it wouldn’t. There were no Rebels on Aquilae. 

But he couldn’t let Piett know that. 

“Maybe,” he said, forcing a smile. 

Piett arched an eyebrow. 

“I can see straight through that, you know,” he said. “There’s no need to fake anything around me. Listen. We’ll go out there, whatever happens will happen, and then we’ll come back here, and I’ll get you a nice cup of hot chocolate.” 

“You don’t have to treat me like that,” Luke said sharply; now that he felt better, he was absolutely mortified over what had just happened. “I’m not a child.”

Piett sighed. “I’m giving you a break for two seconds, all right? Stop making it so hard for yourself.” 

“Fine.” Luke had a stray thought, for a moment, that Han would have said the same thing. “What’s hot chocolate?”

Piett looked dumbfounded. 

“You’ve...never heard of hot chocolate?” he demanded. “Never?”

Luke shook his head. He really hadn’t. Leia had mentioned it once, but the Alliance had never had the resources for it. Still, he decided to take his best guess. 

“Well, I’ve heard of it,” he said defensively. “Isn’t it, like...a bar of chocolate except...warmer?”

“A... _ warmer chocolate bar.”  _ Piett rubbed his forehead with two fingers. “No, no. How have you never--” He shook his head. “Never mind. No, it is not that. It’s a  _ drink.  _ It’s heated cocoa and water. You put marshmallows in it; it’s delicious.” 

“Sounds like it.” Luke frowned. “What are marshmallows?”

“What are--” Piett’s eyes bulged, and he looked like he was about to have a seizure. “Stars, Owen, just how in the galaxy do you--”

Luke grinned. 

Piett sighed for the third time. “Of course.”

“I’m kidding,” Luke said. “I know what marshmallows are.” 

“Then you’ll find that they taste even better in hot chocolate,” Piett said, putting an arm around Luke’s shoulder. “Come on; it’s just nightfall now.”

A twist ran through Luke’s middle; suddenly he was reminded of what he had to do. But he wasn’t going to cry again. 

Somehow, he was going to find a way out of this. 

  
  


Wistfully, Leia Organa watched as Wedge’s starfighter took off into the sky. 

She hadn’t wanted to send him off; it was risky, after all, as his image was currently the one being spread through the criminal underworld as the one belonging to Luke Skywalker. Fortunately, High Command hadn’t looked into it. But despite the risk, she needed someone to be there on Aquilae, just in case something happened to Luke and Wedge needed to pull him out. 

Leia forced herself to breathe. It was all right, it was all right; she was taking control of the situation. Luke would not be there alone. 

“Hey, Your Worship,” Han said behind her, and Leia was so deep in her thoughts that she almost jumped. “Don’t worry. He’ll be fine.” 

“I...I know,” she said, turning round to face him. “I know he will.” 

“You could’ve sent me, y’know,” he said with a shrug. “With him being Luke Skywalker Junior and all, that’s...I mean, he can do it, but it’s more dangerous is all I’m saying.” 

Leia’s heart pounded faster; she ignored it. 

“And here I thought you  _ liked _ ‘more dangerous,’” she said. 

“Oh, I do. It’s just…” A corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. “I like to be doing the dangerous things from time to time, Princess.” 

Leia clenched her fists. Of course. He hadn’t asked in the three weeks Luke had been gone, but she knew it had to come at some point; and here it was. He wanted to be in the action...but she was not going to let him. 

“Don’t call me that,” she said, trying to distract him. She turned away. 

He caught her arm. 

“Hey, hey, don’t walk away.” He wasn’t smiling any longer. “I’ve avoided asking you until now; I get it. There are more important things going on. You’ve been afraid for the kid every waking minute, but I don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand what?” she demanded. 

“You know it. You can’t trick me.” Han crossed his arms. “You don’t want me in the action.”

“No,” she tried to protest, but he ignored her. 

“You don’t want me helping Luke,” he went on. “You don’t want me to do anything but stay here and be your errand boy--”

That was going too far. 

“You are  _ not  _ my errand boy!” she shouted, throwing her hands in the air. 

“Well, that’s what it looks like to me, sweetheart. And I wanna know why.” 

“I…” Leia struggled to find the words. “I just thought it would be better for Wedge to go.” 

“Better than the captain of the  _ Millennium Falcon?”  _ Han snorted. “Yeah, right.” 

“I’ve had  _ enough _ of your arrogance!” Leia shouted, getting in his face. “Listen, I know you think you’re the MVP of the Rebel Alliance--”

“You’re way out of line,” Han snapped. “That’s not what I think. I know I talk a big game, but that’s only because in  _ my  _ experience, if you don’t build yourself up somehow, you die. But that’s not how I’m thinking now. All I know is the  _ facts,  _ Leia. You wanna know the facts here?”

He was angry. He was  _ actually angry. _ Leia couldn’t talk.

“I know that Luke’s in the center of the Empire. I know he’s alone, he’s got no one to help him. I know I saved his ass at Yavin, and I’d do it again--not that Wedge won’t. But Wedge is alone, too. He’s just in a starfighter; I’ve got the  _ Falcon.  _ I’ve got a first mate who can fly the ship himself while I blow the Empire to hell. So why the hell didn’t you send me after Luke?” Han laughed bitterly. “All I can think is my talents aren’t wanted around here.” To Leia’s dismay, he began to step backward. “So why don’t I just pack it up and finally get out of your stupid--”

“No!” She’d shouted, almost screamed the word before she could stop herself. “I...we want you to stay. We  _ need  _ you, Han.” 

Han smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Then send me after Luke,” he said. 

“I--I--” Leia turned away. “I can’t.” 

“Then you don’t need me.” 

This time, he turned completely away. 

“No!” Leia shrieked, desperate, but he didn’t stop. “Stop! Han, you--you--” She couldn’t let him leave, she could not let him leave; it was senseless, it was ridiculous, but once he was out of her sight the Empire could gut him again. “Han,  _ I need you to stay!”  _

He turned around again, and she couldn’t stand the reproach in his eyes. She didn’t understand it. Two months ago, she’d have been fine with him leaving; she would have celebrated. Why couldn’t she handle it now? 

She knew why, of course. She didn’t want to admit it. 

“What’s so hard to understand, Leia?” Han demanded. “You coerced me into this whole thing so I could help you against the Empire, and now you won’t let me do it. Can’t you see what that means?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry, but--”

“But what? Just tell me. Spit it out. Otherwise, I’m leaving for good, and you’ll never--”

_ I can’t let him leave.  _

“Damn it Han,  _ I can’t let you die!”  _

Han froze. 

Leia couldn’t have explained it, but she  _ felt  _ his surprise. 

“Did I hear you right?” Han shook his head. “Did you really just say, ‘I can’t let you die?’”

“I--yes,” Leia stammered. “And I’m sorry, but I--”

“You don’t want me to die, you--” Han gasped--realization flooded his eyes. “Oh,  _ shit.”  _

Silence echoed between them. 

“Shit,” Leia repeated nervously. “What’s ‘oh, shit?’”

“You...this is all for me, isn’t it?”

Leia almost denied it; but then, the truth was out now. It was time to stop denying.

“Yes,” she said quietly. 

“Well, that’s…” Han scratched his head. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t be angry,” Leia begged him, “please. I know it’s ridiculous, you said it yourself, you’re one of the best pilots I know; but I couldn’t help it. Vader shot you down, came to kill you himself--he targeted you because of me--”

“Angry?” Han looked--and felt--bewildered. “Why the hell would I be angry?”

“Because--” Leia had not expected that at all; why wasn’t he angry? She would be. “Because--well--”

But Han was grinning now, and she didn’t know if she loved or hated it. 

“You actually care about me,” he said. “Wow! For months I’ve been trying to get to know you better, trying to get you to admit you care, and all it took was being almost killed!” He frowned. “I should’ve tried that earlier.” 

_ “Han--” _

“All right, I won’t get it to happen again. Anyway though, I’d say…” He whistled. “This is some achievement, isn’t it? You don’t want me to die! I mean, I’ve never wanted  _ you  _ to die--or--well.” Now he looked embarrassed. “Maybe not that, but--”

Leia didn’t know what compelled her. She didn’t know where she got the idea, where it came from, but before she knew what she was doing she was kissing him. 

Immediately, Han was kissing her back, and the feeling was so shocking that Leia pulled back. 

“Whoa,” he said--and then, two seconds later: “Hey. What...what was that about? Why the hell did you stop?”

“I was figuring…” She was blushing. She knew she was blushing. She cleared her throat. “Well. We should do something, perhaps, about the current situation first?”

“Oh.” Han looked extremely disappointed, and that only made her want to kiss him again, but Leia shoved the urge away. “Yeah. You’re right.” Then he frowned. “Wait a minute. Did you say  _ do something?”  _

“I...I did.” Leia sighed. “I’m probably going to regret this.” 

“Probably.” Han grinned. “But maybe not.” 

“Just go get the  _ Falcon.  _ And Chewie.” Leia looked at the sky; somewhere, Luke was still alive, doing his job as a spy. “Wedge isn’t going to be alone. We’re going to Aquilae, too.” 

  
  


The capital was quiet. Everything was quiet, except for the soft footsteps of Luke, and Piett, and their guard of a dozen as they walked through the city. The troopers had done their jobs, all right; all the people were safely in their homes. 

The homes that would all be blown to pieces. 

Luke tried not to think about it, tried to think about anything else; but as they drew closer to the governor’s mansion, it was all he could think about. There would be civilians in those homes, men and women who’d just gotten home for dinner; there would be mothers, fathers, grandparents, boyfriends, girlfriends; there would be children, sitting down to tell their parents what had happened at school. 

And they would all be killed, at his command. 

He couldn’t do it. 

He  _ could not do it.  _

They entered silently. Under threat of death, two guards led them through polished halls, around corners, up sets of stairs, until at last they arrived at Governor Dika’s office. 

The governor stood up, a look of fury on her face. 

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded. “You were not invited!” 

“And yet we will speak with you,” Luke said. He couldn’t bear the coldness in his voice, the fear on the governor’s face as he spoke. With every passing hour, he realized, he was beginning to despise Owen Shatterlight more and more. 

“All right,” Governor Dika said slowly. “State your case.” 

Piett stepped forward. 

“I am Admiral Firmus Piett,” he said, and Luke blinked-- _ admiral.  _ “This is Owen Shatterlight; we are sent from the Empire.”

“Oh, I can tell,” Dika said coolly. 

“Admiral?” Luke muttered. “What’s that about?”

“Ozzel is dead,” Piett whispered, and Luke tried not to react. “Lord Vader contacted me minutes before we left. I have replaced him.” 

Dead.  _ Dead.  _ Luke could barely comprehend it. He supposed he should be happy; he could not be exposed now. But all the same…

Belatedly, he realized he was supposed to speak. 

“Governor Dika,” he said, making sure to speak clearly, “there are rumors of Rebel activity on this planet.” 

“Rebels?” She looked surprised; she was surprised. He could feel it, and he hated it, hated himself for it. “No. I swear to you that there are no Rebels here.” 

“And yet, we have received reports of Rebel activity.” Luke felt as if he were a spectator, watching from the sidelines as this horrible, cold-hearted Imperial officer made demands of the governor. “Our spies do not lie.” 

“I swear to you,” Governor Dika said, “there has been  _ no Rebel activity!”  _

Luke couldn’t speak. He couldn’t go through with it. 

He knew what the next words out of his mouth would be. 

He couldn’t…

Then he felt Piett’s calm, steady hand on his shoulder. He swallowed. 

He stepped forward, slowly; to those surrounding them, it would look deliberate, forceful, the slow pronouncement of doom. That was good. 

No one would suspect that Owen Shatterlight was absolutely terrified. 

“You will give us either proof of Rebel activity or information about the Rebels themselves,” he said in a low voice, “or this capital will be blown to bits.” 

“No!” Dika stumbled back, her eyes searching the room, as if looking for an exit; right on cue, two stormtroopers moved closer to her. She froze. “No. No, no, there has to be--there’s no Rebel activity here! I swear it  _ on my life!”  _

Luke closed his eyes to keep from crying. 

_ I can’t kill people, I can’t… _

“I don’t know what I can do to prove it to you; I wish there was a way that I could!” He could hear the governor begin to sob. “Do not kill my people, I beg you!” 

_ “It never should have been asked of you.” _

_ “The Force will be with you, always....” _

“Shatterlight will decide,” a stormtrooper was saying coldly. “Not you.” 

_ “All clear, kid. Now let’s blow this thing and go home!”  _

The Force was with him. 

_ “There’s always another option, Luke,”  _ Leia had said. _ “Always another option.”  _

_ Ransom the pilot. Ransom the pilot.  _

_ “It’s your trump card, Luke.”  _

Luke opened his eyes. 

The tears were gone. 

He motioned for the stormtroopers to move back; they did so. Then Luke stepped forward, planted his hands on the desk, and leaned toward the governor so that his face was only inches from hers. 

“I will get you out of here,” he hissed in a low voice, so low no one else could have heard. “I will stop the capital from being blown up, but you must do it in a way that no one suspects. Do you understand? Say yes if you do.”

“Yes,” she whispered. 

“Now,” Luke went on, continuing to speak through his teeth, “I know something that will keep this capital from being blown up. You will say it, and you will appear to be reluctant.” 

She nodded very quickly. Hopefully, everyone else would think he was only threatening her.

“What do I say?” she asked. 

Luke took a deep breath; then he leaned in and whispered, into her ear, the few words that mattered. 

He stepped back, his heart pounding. 

“Well?” he demanded. “Will you tell me  _ now?” _

“Ah--I--y-yes,” she stammered. “The pilot who destroyed the Death Star--”

Piett leaned forward, along with several stormtroopers. Luke clenched his fists. 

_ It was the right thing, it was the right thing. No one will die.  _

Governor Dika swallowed. “The pilot who destroyed the Death Star is Luke Skywalker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this one! I love Luke and Piett friendship fics, and I know Severn does too :P Plus the Han and Leia stuff, this is kind of the emotional high of the story. Hope you enjoyed it! Last chapter coming tomorrow!


	6. Neither Victory Nor Defeat

_Watch the scene. Get a message to Luke, but otherwise wait; take action if it is clear that he is in danger, and we can’t get him out. Leave before the Empire takes off._

Those had been Wedge’s orders from Leia--watch, wait, act in case of emergency. 

He didn’t know why Leia had sent him instead of Han; he would have thought he’d be too important, as he was supposed to be posing as Luke Skywalker and was currently in possession of _all the Empire’s plans,_ but she had been adamant that he was right for the job. So he’d stored the plans in Artoo--yes, Leia had said with a smile, just like old times--left the droid in the care of Mothma and other highly trusted Rebel leaders, and taken off for Aquilae. 

Now, he had just emerged from hyperspace; and, as far as he could tell, nothing was happening. The atmosphere above the planet was completely empty--Luke must still be on the planet, then. 

Nothing was happening. 

Wedge sat there, stewing in frustration; he never knew what was going on where this plan was concerned. And why the hell would Leia send him here, when they were so close? Was it just that she was worried about Luke? That had to be it…

Suddenly, something appeared on Wedge’s scopes--a ship. Snapping himself out of his stupor, he looked closer. 

No, it wasn’t _just_ a ship. 

It was a Star Destroyer. 

  
  


Luke left Governor Dika’s mansion feeling numb. 

_The pilot is Luke Skywalker,_ he’d told her. And then she’d said it. He had staged it perfectly, had played his part perfectly, had saved all five hundred thousand citizens and escaped without suspicion. He’d found a third option. He should have been happy. 

And yet, he’d never felt more afraid. 

He had just released his own name into the galaxy. He’d told the world that he destroyed the Death Star, had painted a target on his back until he died or the Empire fell. And sure, at the moment no one suspected him...but at some point, Owen Shatterlight would no longer exist, and then he’d be revealed. 

And then the whole galaxy would be gunning for him. 

For the moment, Luke walked through the capital with his head held high, expression impassive; for the time being, he was still Owen Shatterlight. All around him, the stormtroopers were regarding him, he felt, with more respect than they had before; every now and then, Piett gave him a small smile. Luke could guess what he was thinking. 

He was safe for now. But for how much longer? 

For some reason, Luke had the feeling that something bad was about to happen. 

At last they arrived back at the ship; the troopers and other agents congratulated Luke officially. 

“I thought she didn’t know anything,” said one of the officers. “But you got it out of her after all! And...what was it she told you? The name of the pilot?”

“Yes,” said one of the troopers--TK-319, Luke remembered. He had tried to learn all their names. “Shatterlight threatened her, and finally she caved. The pilot’s Luke Skywalker.” 

“Luke Skywalker.” The officer shook his head. “Never heard of him.” He scowled. “Can’t wait to see him pay for destroying the Death Star.” 

The others murmured in agreement. Luke felt slightly sick. 

He could _feel_ how much they wanted him dead. 

“Uh...it’s late,” he said briskly, turning away. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.” 

As he turned to leave, Piett followed him. 

“Well, Owen,” he said with a smile as they passed into Luke’s private rooms. Luke was well aware what everyone would think of _that,_ but he didn’t care. “I daresay you did it.”

“Of course I did,” Luke said with a grin, flopping down on the couch. “You gave me a confidence boost, Firmus. That’s got to count for something.” 

“No, I think it was all you.” Piett turned and poured something in a cup--it was warm, and brown, and smelled absolutely lovely. 

_Hot chocolate,_ Luke realized. 

“Here,” Piett told him, smiling wider. He had a cup of his own. “As promised.”

Luke took a tentative sip. The hot liquid seemed to flood through him, warming every inch of him; and beyond that, it tasted so _good._

He grinned. “This is amazing!” 

“I knew you were missing out.” Piett sat down across from him. “Here’s to your success.” 

_“Our_ success,” Luke corrected, and they drank. 

Suddenly the Force flashed with warning--it was as if a thousand warning bells went off all at once, as if someone had punched him in the gut. Luke gasped and sat forward, almost spilling his hot chocolate. Quickly, he set it down. 

Something was wrong...something was very, _very wrong._

“What now?” Piett asked, concerned. “Is something wrong?”

“I...I don’t know,” Luke whispered, but he did know. He felt it, in his very bones, but how the hell could he explain _that?_

Fortunately, he didn’t have to. There was a knock on the door. 

“Come in,” said Piett, as Luke was still groaning and massaging his temples. The next second, the door opened, and an officer entered. 

“My apologies,” he said, sounding rather breathless, “but we have a situation.” 

Piett frowned. “What...situation?”

“We’ve been exposed,” he said. “Lord Vader is in the system, and General Veers has sent us a message. There’s an Alliance starfighter in the atmosphere.” 

Luke’s heart stopped. _Wedge._ Something must be wrong, Leia must have sent him for a reason--

“What?” Piett looked horrified. “How long has it been there?”

“All night,” said the officer, “by the looks of it.”

“We’ll be there,” Luke said, his voice hoarse. The officer bowed quickly before leaving. 

“It’s all right,” Piett said, half to himself. “Don’t worry, Owen.” He smiled grimly. “Lord Vader is here.” 

  
  


Darth Vader had been right. Something _was_ wrong. He knew it the minute they came out of hyperspace. He knew it in the Force. 

And also from the _Rebel starfighter_ that was _sitting_ there. 

On the bridge, everything was chaos. No one had expected this; this was horrible. The operation to Aquilae had been secret; not even everyone on the _Executor_ had known about it. And yet, here was an X-Wing, lying in wait above the planet; and as the bridge crew realized this, they began frantically running about their stations in a manner most uncharacteristic of Imperial officers. 

But not Vader. 

This was a disaster, but it would only be solved by calm, decisive action, not this chaos. It would be solvable, in some way; somehow, Vader would have revenge for what had happened. 

And it was very clear _what had happened_ . The plans had _leaked._

And, as he stared at the starfighter that was starting to take off at the sight of the _Executor,_ Vader realized he had seen it before. He’d seen it at Yavin. 

Could it be…?

It might be the pilot, it just might be the pilot he was looking for. But he _couldn’t find out_ with these senseless idiots running around. 

“ENOUGH!” he roared, and everyone _froze._ Now he had an audience, so he turned to face the crew. “That is an Alliance starfighter. It could very well be the pilot who destroyed the Death Star, and we must capture him. Ready the tractor beam.” 

At once, the men went to work, and things were back to business. They were going to capture the pilot. 

And in the meantime, Vader would learn how, precisely, the plans had leaked. 

  
  


Darth Vader was here. That was what he’d sensed. Piett had told him Vader was coming, but he hadn’t guessed it would be this soon, and now Wedge was here--

Luke was up in an instant. 

“We need to go,” he said. “Something--something’s going to happen, and I’m not waiting around for things to get bad.” 

“We will need to meet Lord Vader,” Piett said patiently. “But we will have to let him do the work. We’ve done our job; this is a security breach. This is nothing we’ve done.”

But Luke ignored him. Grabbing his coat, he ran for the door. 

“Owen!” Piett shouted after him. “What are you doing? I told you--”

“I know what you said.” Luke turned back to look at him; he hated to have Piett caught in the middle of this. “I can’t help it. I need to do something.” 

“OWEN!” 

“Sorry,” Luke shouted over his shoulder before running from the room. 

He didn’t care what anyone thought. He had to save his friend. 

  
  


Vader had two options. 

Either a Rebel spy had come in to steal the plans...or his favorite officer, recently promoted Admiral Firmus Piett, had betrayed him. 

He wanted to believe it was the former; he truly did. He had known Piett for months, had come to rely on the man--Piett was quiet, but resourceful, loyal, and skilled. Of all his private officers, Vader had been confident that Piett would never betray him; but the evidence pointed to it. He was always wary of spies. He would know if there was a spy in his midst, he would know it instantly...and _only Piett_ had access to the information. 

Then, Piett must have betrayed him. 

But for some reason, the idea felt wrong. And it was not because Vader did not want it to be true, it literally _felt wrong,_ in the Force. 

But then, that meant that there was a spy. 

And how could there possibly be a spy? 

The _Executor_ began to move forward; Vader closed his eyes and cast himself out into the Force. What could it be? What was the secret?

 _How did a spy slip past_ **_me?_ **

“Lord Vader.” Vader opened his eyes; an officer was standing in front of him. “There’s an incoming message from one of the troopers in Shatterlight’s company. He says there are no rebels here.” 

Shatterlight. 

It should be good news, it should be wonderful news, but…

Ozzel had said he had gone out at night. He’d been about to tell him where exactly he had gone...and then Vader had killed him. 

But what if... _Shatterlight_ had been the liar? 

It was not possible, it wasn’t; Vader did not want it to be. He thought he’d struck gold with Shatterlight, that the boy would be his apprentice, his key to overthrowing Palpatine once and for all…

“My lord.” Veers interrupted Vader’s musings. “We are almost in range.” 

“Very good,” Vader told him. “I will take care of the pilot; but I have a special mission for you.” 

  
  


No. No, no, no, it couldn’t be--Darth Vader wasn’t supposed to be here! Leia told him she’d received an encrypted message from Luke, the night before; Vader wasn’t supposed to leave. Luke was going to return to him later…

But here he was. 

And unless Wedge escaped, he was going to be killed. 

Shaking, he started the ship again, sending his X-Wing rocketing forward in a matter of seconds. So far, Vader wasn’t coming after him--the _Executor_ was staying right where it was supposed to be: _away from him._

Then, behind him, the giant Star Destroyer moved. 

“No,” he said through clenched teeth, “no, no, no--”

_I did not escape the Death Star just to be caught by Vader on a spy mission!_

But the Star Destroyer was so much larger than his small fighter, and it was quickly gaining on him. He had to do something. Wedge didn’t know if the _Executor_ had a tractor beam, but he wasn’t going to stick around to find out. Quickly, he flew the ship up and over the _Executor,_ turning in a series of barrel rolls before landing behind the Star Destroyer.

He’d made it. He was free. 

_I’m sorry, Luke,_ he thought. _Sorry, Leia. But if I stick around any longer, the mission’s going to be exposed._

He sped towards the hyperspace ring. 

And suddenly, something _yanked_ on his ship. 

Terrified, Wedge pressed buttons, slammed his hands on the controls; nothing. His X-Wing was caught, being pulled backwards through space. It was the tractor beam after all…

But that was strange. He was too far away. It shouldn’t work at this distance. 

Slowly, Wedge turned around...and then he knew what had stopped him. 

Darth Vader himself _was standing on top of the Star Destroyer,_ one hand outstretched. 

He was using the Force on Wedge’s X-Wing. 

“Stars, Luke,” he muttered. “I really wish you had my back right now.” 

  
  


Luke had never run faster in his entire life. 

He didn’t care who saw him; he didn’t care what he looked like, running frantically past all the agents and pilots and stormtroopers who he’d commanded just hours before. All he knew was that Wedge was here--Wedge Antilles was here, and Vader was here, and he had to get his friend out of there. 

He’d told Leia Vader wasn’t supposed to be there. He’d told her that when she’d asked; and then, of course, she had thought it would be safe to send Wedge. It was his fault, and he had to make up for it. 

He had to save his friend. 

“Shatterlight!” shouted one officer. “Where are you going?”

He didn’t answer. He just kept running. 

He was almost out now; there had been spare ships on Aquilae. He’d take one--he could hotwire it, no problem--he’d go up and find Wedge--

He slowed to a walk. He opened the door. 

General Veers was standing there. 

Luke froze. 

“Owen Shatterlight,” Veers said; Luke couldn’t have guessed what the man was thinking. His expression was cool, impassive, but somehow he knew he was in danger. “Wonderful to see you again.” 

“General...Veers,” Luke got out. He swallowed. “What’s going on?”

_Please make it short, please. I need to get to Wedge._

“We might have caught the pilot who destroyed the Death Star,” Veers said. 

Suddenly, it hit Luke just how awful the situation was, how terrible the thing was that he had done. He’d told the world that Luke Skywalker had destroyed the Death Star...and while he was Owen Shatterlight, that was Wedge. 

But did Vader know? Did Vader know who Wedge was?

“Really,” Luke said lightly, trying to stay calm. “That’s wonderful news. Do you know his name?”

“No. I left as he was being captured.” Veers smiled. “But Lord Vader suspects. And once he has him, he will know.” 

He would. He would torture Wedge, invade his mind and wring everything from him until he got his name...and then he would kill him, slowly, without mercy. 

What could he do? What could he _possibly do?_

“What do you need me to do?” he asked. 

“You need to come with me,” he said. “Lord Vader has asked to speak with you personally.” 

Well. That wasn’t terrible. It would bring him close to Wedge, would put him in a position where he could do something…

But the Force was warning him, he realized. Something was wrong. 

“Can you give me a minute?” he asked. 

“I’m sorry, Owen,” Veers said, and there was a coldness behind his eyes. “You need to come immediately.” 

The color drained from Luke’s face. 

Vader knew. Or at the very least, he suspected--

“Shatterlight.” A voice spoke behind him, and Luke whirled around; but it was only a stormtrooper. “We have a problem.” 

“One minute,” Luke said to Veers, before disappearing inside.

He was confused, but at least it gave him the opportunity to get away, to think, as the trooper led the way through the ship, turning down several corners, before at last entering a small office. 

Someone was sitting in a chair, examining something on a desk--was it Piett? 

Was Vader here, somehow? 

“Here he is,” said the stormtrooper, and--and Luke was fairly certain he _knew that voice--_

The chair spun around. Leia was sitting in it.

“Leia!” Luke shouted, running forward. 

Leia stood up so he could hug her; then, quickly, she pulled back. 

“I wish I could catch up with you,” she said breathlessly. “Luke, I--I’ve missed you _so much,_ you have no idea.” 

_Luke._ It was his own name--it was his again. Luke wanted to cry. 

“But,” she went on, “we have things to do. We’re in...a bit of a bad situation.” 

“Yeah, I think that’s obvious,” said the stormtrooper that was clearly Han Solo in disguise. 

Leia shot him an exasperated look. “Han. You can take that off in here, it’s just us.” 

Han threw up his hands in an irritated gesture before taking off his helmet. 

Luke stared at him. Han had never looked so good in his whole life. After a month of having nightmares that he’d been killed--

“Kid, you don’t have to look at me like that, it hasn’t been _that_ long.” Han laughed. “Gee, how’d you even survive pretending to be a bounty hunter? You’ve got no sabacc face.” 

Luke felt himself preparing for a laugh, but at the same time, he felt ready to cry again--so what escaped was a half-laugh, half-sob. 

“I’m so glad to see you,” he said, “but--” He took a deep breath. “Like Leia said, there’s a situation. Wedge is…” His shoulders sagged. “He’s been captured by Vader.” 

“We know,” Han said grimly. “We landed just as his X-Wing was being drawn in; we couldn’t have done anything.” 

“No, of course not,” Luke said. “But...I think there’s something else you should know.” He took a deep breath. “In order to avoid giving the order to kill thousands of innocent people, I revealed that I destroyed the Death Star.” 

“You…” Leia had gone white. “You _what?”_

“Not me, me,” Luke said. “Obviously everyone thinks I’m still Owen Shatterlight. But...but it means…”

“Wedge is in more danger than we thought.” Han shook his head. “Oh, we screwed this up.”

“No--” Luke looked between them. “No, _I_ screwed this up, I revealed myself--”

 _“No.”_ Leia put her hands on his shoulders. “Sure, you did that. But I sent Wedge; I should have sent Han, I didn’t want him in danger. And that was my mistake.” 

“And I snapped at her, and didn’t make things any easier,” Han said. “The thing is, kid, we all messed up. It’s not just you; it’s all of us. But we’re gonna fix it.” 

Luke opened his mouth, trying to come up with an argument, something to tie the situation to just him, and him alone--but then he saw Leia’s face, and Han’s face, and he couldn’t think of anything. They were right. 

It was not just on him. 

“All right,” he said with a grin so wide it could have split his face, “let’s do this.” He cleared his throat. “Veers wants to take me to the _Executor;_ I think...I think Vader knows, or suspects. But I think I should go, because Wedge is there.” 

Leia frowned. “That might be the right call. But…” 

Both Luke and Han groaned. 

“Oh, come on,” she said. “I’m just trying to think this through!” She sighed. “What I was _going to say_ was that I think Han and I should go along. You’re going to need back-up; in case something goes wrong, we’ll be there.” 

“It’s all right, Leia,” Luke said. “I can do it by--”

Someone knocked on the door. 

“Shatterlight?” came a trooper’s voice. “If you’re in there, the general is demanding that you come with him.”

“I have to go,” Luke said. 

“We’ll figure something out, kid,” Han told him. “You just do your job.” 

“Thanks, Han.” Luke walked toward the door--and then stopped, turning to look back at Han and Leia. “If I don’t make it back--”

“Oh, shut the hell up,” Leia said. 

“Right.” Luke smiled. “I’ll see you later.” 

Then, he opened the door and stepped outside. 

  
  


Wedge had been captured. He’d been captured by the Empire...and by Darth Vader. 

Things had never been worse. 

But, as he sat there in the cockpit, and stormtroopers rushed towards him, he decided then and there that he wouldn’t crack. Sure, they’d all made a mistake; he shouldn’t have come here. But he was not going to be the reason that Luke’s cover was blown. 

_I am going to be strong,_ he decided. _For Leia. For Han..._

_For Luke._

Wedge managed to remain calm as he was seized by the troopers, yanked out of his cockpit, and marched swiftly down the corridors of the _Executor._ At the moment, he was still breathing. He was still alive, still resilient. 

Wedge was marched almost across the length of the entire Star Destroyer, on a straight path to the bridge, and then away--on a straight path, it would seem, to Darth Vader. 

Without warning, the troopers stopped. Caught off guard, Wedge bumped into the one right in front of him, but he didn’t react. 

He was listening to something. A message. 

Leaning forward, Wedge listened, too. 

“...the prisoner to the detention bay. I have Shatterlight; Lord Vader wants to meet with both of them at once.”

Shatterlight. 

_Luke._

Vader suspected Luke, his cover might be blown--

“All right,” they said to Wedge. “Come with us.” 

No, no, no--

But even as they dragged him forward, a shot rang out. 

The troopers stopped again and turned around, blasters drawn; and in the middle of the hallway, to Wedge’s shock, were Han Solo and Leia Organa. 

“Come on, you bastards!” Han shouted. “Fight!” 

As he was speaking, he fired repeatedly; two troopers fell, including the one at Wedge’s right. 

That was enough. Wedge gave the other one a kick to the groin, stole one of the fallen blasters, and ran forward. 

“Come on!” Leia shouted as Han kept firing. 

Wedge fired a shot over his shoulder before he’d caught up with Han and Leia; they closed in on either side of him. 

“Vader’s got Luke,” Wedge gasped as they ran. “We have to help him!” 

“Of course we do, but I don’t know how easy that’s gonna be,” Han said. “Unless...I’ve got an idea. Leia, you were in close contact with Luke; you might be able to help me.” 

“Anything for Luke,” she said. 

“Luke makes friends like snow falls on Hoth. Does he have any Imperial friends?”

  
  


Veers and Luke took a small Imperial ship up to the _Executor._ They were the only passengers, and the entire time, Luke couldn’t help but notice that there was a coldness in Veers’ expression now, a distrust there. Of course, there had always been the distrust--Veers had never been as open with him as Piett--but now it was out in the open. 

_How much does Vader suspect?_ Luke wondered. _And if so, how much does_ Veers _know?_

But he couldn’t ask, because _that_ might blow his cover even more. 

He hated not knowing things. 

“So, Owen,” Veers said as they drew near the Star Destroyer. “You say you found the name of the pilot who destroyed the Death Star?”

“Yes,” Luke told him, forcing himself to once again put on the face of Owen Shatterlight. “The governor gave in when I threatened her.”

“Excellent,” Veers said coolly. “And who is the pilot? Does he have a name?”

Luke swallowed. This was the hard part. 

_Vader had Wedge._

“Yes,” he said. “But as we’re returning to the _Executor,_ I think I’ll save that information for Vader himself.” 

A slight flash passed through the general’s eyes; then, he nodded. 

“Of course,” he said. 

They rode the rest of the way in silence; in minutes, they were passing into the _Executor’s_ docking bay, and Luke felt a brief shudder of fear. The Force was warning him, constantly; it was all around him, whispering of danger into his ear. 

And then they had landed. 

“Follow me,” Veers said. 

_Follow me._ Like he was a prisoner. 

Nonetheless, Luke had no choice. He kept up with the brisk pace Veers set as they passed through several corridors, passed by many office doors. They went past the bridge, and Vader’s private office...and then they were going down, Luke realized, down several levels, until they had arrived at the detention bay. 

And there was Vader, waiting for them. 

_DANGER,_ the Force shouted at him, loud and clear. Luke wanted to run, to flee; something terrible was about to happen. 

“Lord Vader,” he said. 

“Owen Shatterlight,” Vader rumbled, and there was something low and dangerous in his voice. “Were you successful?”

“Yes,” Luke said. “I discovered the identity of the pilot who destroyed the Death Star.”

“Did you?” Vader’s voice was soft--too soft, Luke thought. But to his surprise, Vader did not press. “I believe that that information will prove useful in a moment. Please, follow me.” 

Vader entered the detention bay, and Luke and Veers followed. Luke clenched his fists, trying to keep himself from trembling; he knew what Vader was doing. Wedge was going to be in here, he knew it…

But all that awaited them was one stormtrooper. 

“What?” The fury in Vader’s voice was unmistakable. “Trooper! _Where is the pilot?”_

“G-gone,” the trooper stammered. “He...he was rescued…”

 _“Rescued,”_ Vader hissed. “By whom?”

“Rebels,” the trooper said, and suddenly Luke realized--Leia and Han had come to his rescue. They’d done it, they’d helped the situation just as Leia promised they would. 

He’d never felt so happy. 

Then the moment was ruined, in several ways. First, the trooper’s neck _snapped,_ his body fell to the ground; and then, at a gesture from Vader, Veers seized Luke’s arm, shoved him roughly forward, and seated him forcibly in a chair. 

There was no one else there. It was only him and Veers, and Vader. 

Luke swallowed, and swallowed again, and tried to take a breath. Yes, they knew. They definitely knew--and now--

“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded. He supposed he could get up and try to leave, but he could guess how well that might go. “I’m a trusted officer! I could help you--”

“Oh, yes, I believe you can,” Vader said, and the tone of his voice made Luke realize this was not going to go well. “Somehow, the Rebels knew of our presence here. They knew we planned to go to Aquilae. Only two people were capable of leaking that information. Admiral Piett...or you, as you most certainly were wandering the halls at night.” 

Ozzel. Ozzel had told him after all; Luke’s lie hadn’t worked. 

“I didn’t leak it,” Luke said. “I swear!” 

But suddenly he felt Vader’s presence _right there,_ in his mind--Luke shuddered and pushed, forcing him out. 

But he knew Vader could get all the information Luke had, if he so desired. 

“I can sense it,” Vader growled. “You are _lying.”_

 _Danger,_ whispered the Force. 

Luke was staring at Vader, so completely focused on Vader, that he was completely taken off guard when Veers walked forward and punched him in the gut. He gasped, doubling over; and then there was a black-gloved hand on his jaw, forcing him to look up into the mask that haunted his dreams. 

“I will get everything I need from you,” Vader snarled. “I will find out what your plan was, who you are--but before I do _any of that,_ I need to know one thing. What is the pilot’s name?”

Vader stepped back, let go of his face, but continued staring at him expectantly. 

_You’re in danger you’re in danger..._

Luke gasped, still trying to breathe; he knew he had to answer. He did not want his mind to be ripped apart, did not want Vader to steal anything from him, but if he said who had destroyed the Death Star, Vader would assume it was Wedge. Luke had never told Vader he was a pilot, had never said anything; and Wedge was the resident pilot on board. The signs pointed to it. 

Luke could not get Wedge killed. And yet...

Han and Leia had promised they would help. 

_YOU’RE IN DANGER._

So he took a deep breath. 

“Luke Skywalker,” he said. 

The Force fell silent. 

It was shocking, terrifying; but suddenly there were no whispers of danger. There was nothing at all. There was only emptiness as everything sucked inward, towards Vader, as if the Sith Lord was a black hole--

Something was building. 

And then, all at once, it _exploded._

Luke felt Vader’s rage all at once; he felt his rage, his fury, his anger, his...his _despair._

Despair? 

That didn’t make sense, but then he supposed it didn’t have to. Luke Skywalker was the son of the man he’d killed, after all; Vader had probably hated Anakin Skywalker. 

And it was terrifying, more terrifying than anything Luke had ever felt, because...because it was, truly, aimed at _him._ Vader didn’t know it, but it was. 

And once he knew, he would kill Luke, slowly, agonizingly, and without mercy. 

Luke couldn’t stop his shaking now; he’d tried desperately, over the last half hour, but now he couldn’t stop it. He was terrified. Vader was going to kill Wedge, or else he was going to kill Luke--it was all over--

“Are you telling the truth?” Vader demanded, his voice harsher than Luke had ever heard it. 

Luke couldn’t answer. He’d said it...Vader knew…

Vader strode forward, seized Luke by the front of his shirt, and lifted him off the ground. Luke was staring directly into Vader’s lenses, indeed so directly that he could _see his eyes,_ which were _yellow._

“Yes,” he whispered. 

Once again, Luke felt Vader enter his mind again, without remorse; a moment later, the presence was gone. 

He had not probed further. That was all Luke knew. 

It was enough. For now, he was safe. 

Vader dropped him unceremoniously; Luke landed on his side, and pain shot up his leg. 

“I will return,” he snarled, “to find out who you are. Veers, do not let him leave.” 

Then, Vader was gone. 

  
  


He had to save Wedge. 

That was all Luke knew. Somehow, he had to get past General Veers. 

“You have to let me go,” he said for the third time; he was back in the chair, and Veers was standing guard, his arms crossed over his chest. “You have to let me go!” 

“I don’t have to do anything,” Veers snapped. “What I truly want is to kill you for deceiving us, but I don’t have clearance to do that. I suppose I’ll get satisfaction from watching Lord Vader choke the life out of you later. I wish I could make you watch the death of your friend, for starters, but--”

That did it. 

With a yell, Luke threw himself out of his chair, ready to attack him with the Force; a shot rang out, and pain bloomed in his calf. 

Then he was lying on the floor, shouting in pain. 

Veers had shot him in the leg--

“Stay down,” Veers snarled. “I can’t kill you, but I won’t refrain from hurting you if that’s what I need to--”

Luke didn’t care. He stretched out his hands and gave Veers the equivalent of a punch with the Force. 

The general who could have been his friend was sent flying across the room. 

Then Luke was up, staggering forward on his wounded leg; but then Veers, fury in every line of his face, was on top of him. Luke tried to fight, but he couldn’t--his leg was burning. 

“I’m going to try to enjoy this,” Veers said. 

Then the blows rained down faster than Luke could stop them; on his face like the day of the false assassination attempt, on his ribs--one in particular to the wound in his leg, causing him to howl in pain--

“Max!” 

Veers stopped. 

Slowly, Luke’s vision cleared; fighting through the pain that was now all over his body, he coughed, spitting blood, and sat up. 

Piett was standing in the doorway. 

“Firmus,” Veers said, suddenly sounding much weaker. “Don’t...don’t interrupt.” 

“He’s just a kid,” Piett shot back, his expression hard. “You weren’t there when he had a breakdown over what he had to do. You don’t know what you’re doing.” 

“I have orders,” Veers growled, “and if only you knew--he’s a Rebel, Firmus!” 

Piett’s gaze snapped to Luke. 

“Is that true?” he asked. 

Luke wanted to lie. He wanted terribly to lie, to let Piett keep trusting him. 

But he’d had enough lying. 

“Yes,” he croaked. 

It was over. Piett was going to let Veers beat him senseless. 

But instead, the admiral drew a blaster. 

“This is set to stun,” he said quietly. “Max, if you attempt to harm that child--”

“Child,” Veers spat. “He’s a traitor is what he is!” 

He turned and moved toward Luke again. Instantly, Piett fired. 

Veers collapsed, his limbs shuddering for a moment before he went still. 

“I’m sorry,” Luke said. “I know he’s your friend--”

“So are you,” Piett said. “You’re also my friend, Owen. And you never tried to attack him.” 

Luke made a decision. 

“Luke,” he said. “My name is Luke.” 

Piett arched an eyebrow. Luke figured he was working things out, but at least he didn’t say anything. 

“Do you plan to kill Lord Vader?” he asked. 

Luke hesitated. He wanted to...but his only goal was to save Wedge. 

“No,” he said. 

Piett motioned with his hand. 

“Then go,” he said. “Do what you have to do.” 

  
  


Han, Leia, and Wedge ran several corridors before stopping. They needed to make sure Wedge was all right. 

“Han,” Leia said; she was looking at him as she’d never looked at him before. “Thank you. Thank you so much--”

“I told you we could do it,” Han said, puffing himself up a little; maybe, he thought, maybe she was going to kiss him again. And maybe this time it would be longer than the last--

“No time,” Wedge said briskly, and he was right; Han could hear footsteps in the distance. “We have to go!” 

“I saw a ship earlier,” Han said, deciding to ask Leia all the ten million questions on his mind later. “In the hangar. It’s about our size.” 

“All right,” Leia said. “Let’s go.” 

They ran forward...and then, a voice rang out behind them. 

“STOP!” 

Vader. 

Han acted instantly. Shoving Leia and Wedge behind him, he fired at the Dark Lord, again and again. He wasn’t going to let Vader torture Leia again, wasn’t going to let him kill Wedge--

The blaster was ripped out of his hand. 

“Solo,” Vader rumbled. “Your Highness. You may leave.” 

Wait, _what?_

 _“Leave?”_ Han echoed. “But--”

“Skywalker,” Vader continued, and he was looking directly at Wedge, and--

_Oh, no._

“No,” Leia was whispering. “He knows, he knows, he got it out of Luke--”

But of course, the Luke they knew was currently Owen Shatterlight. And wherever he was didn’t matter at the moment; Luke Skywalker, to Vader, was Wedge Antilles. 

Wedge had realized what was going on, too; he turned to run. 

Stormtroopers flanked him, separating him from Han and Leia. 

“Go!” Wedge shouted to them. “Get out of here!” 

“No,” Han snapped. “We’re not leaving you--”

But then stormtroopers had surrounded them as well, and were leading them in the opposite direction. And Han didn’t have his blaster. 

“We can’t,” Leia whispered. “We can’t let them do this--”

“It’s all right,” he told her; they were words he didn’t feel. “It’ll be okay.” 

But he knew it wouldn’t. 

Darth Vader thought Wedge Antilles had destroyed the Death Star, and he was going to kill him. 

But there was one more card...possibly. There was Luke. Sure, Vader had had him; but the kid had ways of getting himself out of impossible scrapes. 

_Come on, Luke,_ Han thought as they were led away. _We’re all counting on you._

  
  


Luke didn’t know he did it. He’d been shot in the leg. In addition to that, at least one of his ribs were broken, and there was additional pain in his head, and maybe a shoulder that was dislocated. He didn’t know. And he shouldn’t have been able to walk, let alone run, but Wedge needed him. 

Vader was going to kill Wedge. 

He was going to kill him. 

So, despite the pain flaring through him, despite his fear, he ran through the halls of the _Executor,_ the halls that he had lived in for the last three and a half weeks, following the sense of danger that had returned in the Force. 

_Be with me,_ he thought, wiping sweat and blood from his face. _Please…_

He turned a corner; pain shot up his leg. He almost fell, but fortunately the wall was there; he used it to pull himself up, and kept running. 

There were shouts up ahead. 

Footsteps. 

And as he got closer, Luke thought he sensed someone familiar--someone terrifying, and powerful in the Force. 

Vader. 

There was no pain--not yet. Vader had not yet attacked Wedge. 

But how much longer did he have? 

Luke decided, at long last, that he didn’t care. He spurred himself on, ignoring the pain in his leg, his ribs, his head, his arm, ignoring everything, focused only on running until he rounded the corner and--

“Now, Skywalker.” Vader was approaching Wedge, who was being held by stormtroopers, who was resisting as much as he could. “You--”

“WAIT!” 

The scream felt torn from Luke’s throat; he stumbled, almost collapsing, but somehow held himself upright. 

Slowly, Vader turned around. 

“Shatterlight,” he snarled. “I do not even want to ask how you escaped, but I promise I will attend to you later. Now--”

“No!” Luke felt nothing but desperation--desperation to save Wedge, to keep his friend from death. It was time to stop hiding; he should have told Vader, back in the detention bay, that it was him, but he hadn’t. He’d been a coward. 

He needed to accept his fate. 

“Luke!” Wedge seemed to have realized what Luke was doing, and was probably determined to stop him. “No, you can’t--”

“It’s not him!” Luke shouted, and gasped as the pain in his ribs flared. He managed to push himself off the wall to stand upright. “It’s--it’s not him, Vader, I lied to you, Luke Skywalker destroyed the Death Star--”

“Then,” Vader demanded, “what are you--”

“It’s not him,” Luke gasped. “Not him, I--”

“NO!” Wedge yelled. 

“He’s trying to protect me, _I’m Luke Skywalker!”_

Once again, the Force went dead. Luke stood, gasping for breath as Vader looked at him, as though for the first time; but this time he could not have guessed what the Dark Lord was thinking. 

But he didn’t have to guess. He knew. 

Vader was going to kill him. 

“You--” It was as if, for once, Vader didn’t know what to say. “You-- _how is that possible?”_

That was confusing. What did he mean, how was it possible? But Luke couldn’t think about it. He could only keep speaking. 

“I did come from Tatooine,” Luke said, “I wanted to join the Empire. But then the Empire killed my family.” 

“Killed your family,” Vader echoed. As if he doubted it. 

Luke decided to go on. 

“I left with Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he said, and felt _fury_ from Vader. “I rescued Leia Organa from the Death Star.”

“And...it was _you_ who destroyed it,” Vader said. His voice sounded flat, as if he couldn’t quite understand what he was saying. “You lied. You lied to keep your identity secret--this pilot was supposed to cover for you.” 

He looked, for a moment, back at Wedge...and then at Luke. At long last, Luke could sense that Vader believed him. That was a relief. 

And it was also terrifying. 

“Leave us,” Vader ordered. 

The stormtroopers seized the stunned Wedge by the arms and dragged him away. And then Luke was alone...with Darth Vader. 

He didn’t know what to do. He’d come this far, he’d spent himself completely in getting here...and now that he’d told the truth, now that he’d finally exposed himself, he had no idea what to do. 

Vader was still. He’d remained that way for at least a minute. 

Then, finally, he took a slow step forward, toward Luke--and then another step. And then another. There were no stormtroopers to hinder Luke if he decided to run, but he was injured, and he knew there would be no escape from Vader. 

So he only stood, trembling, as Vader approached him, walking faster and faster...and then stopped directly in front of him. 

Luke looked up at him, though it hurt his face and head and everything else, and tried not to pass out on the spot. Vader was so huge up close, made Luke feel so small; and this time he did not intend to employ him. This time he intended to kill him. 

That made it worse. 

“You are the pilot,” Vader said, although by now he already _knew that,_ what was the point in saying it again? “You destroyed the Death Star. And you _are_ Force-sensitive.” 

Luke couldn’t answer--his silence probably said it all. 

Vader stared at him. 

He couldn’t get away. These were his last few seconds, alive; he’d gambled everything and lost. He would never defeat the Empire...and he would die, with all the pain and agony he could possibly imagine, because not only had he destroyed the Death Star, but he was also the son of a powerful Jedi, a man Vader had killed. And Vader knew it now. 

Something, again, was about to happen. Luke could feel it, in the Force, in Vader’s presence that had surrounded him, and he couldn’t do anything about it but be terrified. There was going to be another explosion; and when it happened, Luke was going to die--

Vader continued to stare at him. 

“You are Luke Skywalker,” he said. “You are the son of Anakin Skywalker.” 

Luke nodded, his whole body shaking. 

“And you are my son,” Vader said softly.

_What?_

Before Luke could react, Vader moved--and he had no more strength, and couldn’t even resist as he was seized by powerful arms--and squashed against Vader’s chest, and--

And he was...being...hugged? 

He couldn’t understand it. All this was too confusing. This entire _day_ had been too confusing, and now he’d thought he was going to be killed...but he was _clearly_ not being killed, as Darth Vader’s arms were wrapped almost protectively around him, and his face was pressed against Vader’s armor, but he couldn’t understand it--he was his son, he’d said, Luke was Vader’s son, but it couldn’t be true--

But if it _wasn’t,_ then _why was he being hugged?_

“Um,” Luke mumbled into Vader’s chest, “what?”

The Sith Lord who _was claiming to be Anakin Skywalker_ pulled back just as abruptly as he’d hugged Luke, but he held onto his arms; a good thing, because Luke was so exhausted, emotionally and physically, that he might have fallen otherwise. 

"So what the hell do you--” Luke’s voice came out an octave higher. He stopped. “What the hell are you--” He blinked. “What?”

He'd never been more confused in his life. 

“I am your _father._ ” There was a strange sort of emotion in Vader’s voice, one that Luke had never thought possible. “And until today, until the last _hour,_ I believed that you were dead. I thought that I had lost my family, but--but you are _alive,_ my son. _”_

_Son._

Luke knew what he was hearing, and in some small, tiny corner of his brain it made sense, but _how in the galaxy could it make sense?_ Vader had been ready to torture him, Vader had tried to kill Han--

How could it be true?

Except that he felt the truth of it, in the Force; and it also explained why Vader had been so angry when he found out that the pilot was Luke Skywalker. He wasn’t angry because Luke had destroyed the Death Star. 

He was angry because he was only finding his son _now._

And also, there was the fact that before today, before Vader had learned Luke was the spy...he had trusted him. He’d been ready to take him on as his apprentice, he’d given him all sorts of opportunities…

But it didn’t make sense. 

“How?” he demanded; fortunately his voice seemed to obey him this time. “How is it...how is it _possible?_ You can’t--you can’t expect me to believe that!” 

“I was certainly as surprised as you,” Vader remarked wryly. “And now I have been surprised twice; but I must admit it makes more sense that _you_ are my son, not the other pilot. But surely, Luke, surely you can sense it.” 

The problem was that he _could_ sense it. The Force was screaming it to him, that it was right, that it was true, that everything had at last fallen into its proper place. And it did make sense, in a weird, twisted sort of way--why Luke had the Force, why he loved to fly. 

Of course, there was the terrifying fact that that would mean Anakin Skywalker had become Darth Vader, and had killed Ben...and one other thing. 

“You went after Han Solo,” Luke said stubbornly. “You tried to kill him, and you almost did.” 

“Solo,” Vader echoed. “The captain of the _Millennium Falcon?_ I tried to kill him because he was ruining my plans. Nothing more.” 

_Nothing more._ Luke scowled. 

“He’s my friend,” he said simply. 

Vader stared at him. 

“That is why you are here,” he said. “You wanted to have your revenge, because I...I almost killed one of your...friends.” 

He said “friends” as if it was a foreign concept, one he hadn’t heard in years. 

“I--” Vader made a noise that sounded like a huff. This situation, Luke realized, probably wasn’t one he _wanted_ to be in. “I am--” Then he made another noise, this one almost a growl, and Luke flinched back. “I am... _sorry.”_

Luke blinked. Sorry. Vader was actually _sorry._ Maybe not for almost killing Han--he probably only cared because he was Luke’s friend--but it at least meant that _he cared about Luke._

But it meant one other thing, too. One that Luke was just now realizing. 

“You...you’re my father?” Luke asked. “You’re--” His face crumpled for a moment, as the full truth of it hit him. “You’re _alive.”_

His father was alive. He’d thought he was dead. 

_“Yes,_ Luke.” Vader let go of Luke’s arms to cup his face in his large hands; Luke was still generally confused, still expecting Vader to do something worse to him, but this gentleness...it meant there really _was_ a person in that suit, and the person was his father. “But I...I almost did such horrible things to you. I nearly killed you, son.”

Above all, his father felt remorse. 

Luke couldn’t deny the remembered terror when Vader had entered his mind, had lifted him off the floor and demanded he tell him what he knew. But Vader hadn’t known, then. 

It didn’t excuse it. Obviously. But Luke could sense that Vader never wanted to do that to him again. 

“It’s all right,” Luke said, and then he realized he was crying--whether from relief, or sadness, or happiness, he didn’t know. Maybe all three. It wasn’t all right, none of this was all right, but it was true; and it was not as terrible as it could have been. “You didn’t know.” 

“I will still train you,” Vader said, “I will do anything, if it makes up for it, and we--” He hesitated for a moment. “If you will join me, we will destroy the Emperor.” 

Luke froze, his world bending in on itself for the second time in five minutes. 

Vader...wanted to kill the Emperor?

Maybe he’d succeed in his goal after all. Vader probably still wanted him to become a Sith, more so now that he knew Luke was his son; but Luke wasn’t going to let him do that, and for the moment, Vader seemed content to at least _try_ to be a father. 

Maybe Darth Vader _could_ be good. 

And if that was true, maybe they could take down the Empire. Together.

“All right,” he said with a grin. “As long as you don’t train me in the Dark Side, I’m in.” 

Vader stepped back, letting go of him, and seemed to look Luke over. 

“You are truly my son,” he said. “Only a Skywalker could be so stubborn.” 

“Well,” Luke said, taking a step forward, “clearly I got it from--”

He’d stepped using his wounded leg. He fell over. 

Fortunately, his father was there to catch him. 

  
  


The _Executor_ was chaos. 

Too many things had happened in the last hour. The stormtroopers had escorted Wedge to where Han and Leia were being kept; they didn’t know what to do with them. No one knew what to do with them--it wasn’t as if Lord Vader had given them explicit orders. There was also the fact that their admiral had disappeared somewhere; no one knew where to find him. Leia, Han, and Wedge didn’t know what to do, either; they were sure that Vader was doing something awful to Luke, but they hadn’t heard anything yet. 

What was going on? 

Then, slowly, footsteps echoed. They were heavy footsteps, and were walking slowly, but surely, in their direction. 

Darth Vader was coming back. 

“Quiet,” Leia said; maybe things weren’t lost yet. Or maybe he had already killed Luke, and had decided he wanted them dead. She couldn’t tell; none of them could. “Wait--”

They waited. And then Vader rounded the corner…

And they understood why the footsteps had sounded slower than usual. 

Darth Vader was carrying the one and only Luke Skywalker in his arms like a child...Luke, who was alive. 

They could only stare. 

It was the strangest picture any of them could have dreamed of. 

“It’s all right,” Luke said to them; he looked unbelievably exhausted, but his voice was strong. “It’s all right, everything’s fine!”

Leia was confused. What was he talking about? 

What was happening? 

But then a brilliant smile burst across Luke’s face, and somehow they knew he was right: things were going to be okay. 

“Don’t worry,” Luke said, turning his head slightly to look at Vader. “He’s my father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhhh well that turned out way way longer than I'd anticipated but I like the way it turned out. Hopefully Vader and Luke seem too OOC in the end part; their relationship there is kind of rushed, I'll admit, though I tried to make the progression of Luke accepting his parentage natural, and he also just needed a hug from his dad. But anyway, Severn, I hope you liked your gift!!!
> 
> Also, while the work title, and Luke's fake last name in a way, come from a phrase unique to Star Wars, the chapter titles are taken from a specific quote that has really inspired me, and I thought it was fitting for this fic.  
> "It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat."  
> \- Teddy Roosevelt


End file.
